Prairie Flowers. 



By JOHN W. BEEBE. 



Poetry is the language of the soul. 

— Madam DeStael. 



The wildest flowers oft may bring 
The sweetest scent at christening; 
The shooting star sometimes may fling 

A radiant light; 
The bird, untaught, may often wing 

The grandest flight. 



TOPEKA, KANSAS: 

GEO. W. CRANE & CO., PRINTERS AND BINDERS. 
1891. 



t 



■^ 






TO 

MY WIFE, 

ALWAYS A FAITHFLTL COMPANION, 
AN INTERESTED LISTENER, 

AND A KIND CRITIC, 

f 

I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK. 



Copyright, 1891, by John W. Bebbe. 



PREFACK. 



"Pbaieie Flowers," my little book has been christened. Why, 
I can scarcely tell. Perhaps it was because they are blossoms of the 
hour, plucked here and there on the beautiful Kansas prairies. 

For the most part, these poems are not given to the public for 
the first time by this compilation — many having appeared in sundry 
journals of note. These have been read, praised, criticised, and cop- 
ied as clippings worthy the editor's shears, until I am convinced they 
belong to the public, not by reason of oriental garniture, neither ex- 
treme culture to reduce or expand, that they might conform to some 
single, critical fancy; but because they are free as the wild flowers, 
so beautiful and varied, after which they are named. 

For the kind words of welcome with which they have heretofore 
been received, I am not ungrateful ; and should the reader enjoy their 
freshness and variety, as here he finds them plucked and bound to- 
gether, I shall be well repaid for the publication of "Prairie Flowers." 

THE AUTHOR. 
Kingman, Kansas, August, 1891. 



INDEX. 



Introduction, . . .5 
The Poet's Mission, . 9 

The Kansas Pioneer, . 13 
No Difference, . . 20 
How Pleasant 't is to 

Read, . . . . 21 

To A Dead Poet, . . 21 
The Reporter, . . ,23 
The Fault-Finder, . 28 

A Morning in the Country, 29 
Seven Pictures, . . 33 
An Honest Man, . • 34 
To My Native State, . 35 
Sparrow Gray, . . .37 
Old Age, .... 38 
The Nobler Way, . .39 
They Tell Me Love is All 

A Myth, . . . 41 

Only a Bit of Moss, . 43 

Ambition, . • • 44 

Rest, My Brother, . . 45 
Earth's Unattainable, . 46 
To A Spider, ... 48 
Those Yesterdays, . 49 

That Boy, . . . .51 
The Crystal City, . 53 

The Tardy Rain Has Come 

Again, . . . .53 
My Baby, My Beautiful 

Baby, .... 54 



My Boats, . . . .56 
The Beaver Hole, . 57 

Do n't Be In a Hurry, . 60 
A Cameo, .... 62 
The Gossip, . . . 62 
Bluing, . . . .66 

The First Frost, . . 67 
Advice Free : Take One, 69 
Some Horned Cattle, . 70 
When Coyotes Flee, . 72 

Evening, . . . . 73 
Work vs. Hope, . . .74 
The Old Mill Pon', . 74 
I Once Did Know a Lass, . 78 
Spring, .... 79 
Patty Cannon's Monument, 81 
Restlessness, . . . 83 
Winter, . . . .84 
To Ironquill, . . 84 

A Jail-Bird's Story, . 86 

Mind : A Fragment, . 90 
The Winter is Cold, . 90 

Life : A Yision, . .91 
Waiting, . . . .94 
Who is My Brother? . 95 
November Dreams, . . 97 
Our Pet is Gone, . . 100 
Good Resolutions, . . 101 
To the Peerless Princess, 104 



6 



INDEX. 



What 's the Use ? . .105 
Despair Not, . . . 107 
Among the Pines o' Sus- 
sex 108 

Healed, .... 110 
A Vision of the Old Folks, 112 
Man Was Not Made to 

Mourn, . . . .114 
My Meecies, . . . 117 
Morning, . . . .119 
A Hundred Years To-day, 121 

Grit, 123 

The Agnostic, . . . 124 
Rest, .... 126 

Pictures in the Fire, . 127 
Man's Adaptation to His 

Environment, . . 129 
My Daughters, . . . 134 



Oh, Come Ye to this Prai- 
rie Land, . . . 138 

The Girl Beyond the 

Bridges, .... 140 
A Kansas Episode, . 141 

Why I Love Her, . . 145 
Ingenuity, . . . 147 
My West Countrie Love, 148 
The Worker's Song, . . 149 
Come, Sit Thee down with 

Me, Love, . . .151 
Jessella, .... 152 
Song to Liberty, . . 154 
A Temperance Battle 

Hymn, . . . .155 
Workman's Song, . .156 
A Tayilight Song, . . 157 
Kansas Song, . . . 158 



Soppin' de Pan, 

De Singing ob de Skeeters 

IN DE A'r, . . . 163 

De Frog Song, . . 164 

Plantation Memories, . 165 

Ghosts, .... 167 

A Lass I Kenned, . . 168 

To Egbert Burns, . . 171 



POEMS IN DIALECT 
161 



Second Epistle to Robert 

Burns, . . . .175 
Third Epistle to Robert 

Burns, .... 177 
Fourth Epistle to Robert 

Burns, . . . .180 
Frae Auld Nick to Robert 

Burns, . . . .182 
A Street Affair, . . 185 



POEMS OF FAITH AND HOPE. 



The Hindu Mystic, . .189 
To My King, . . .191 
Take up thy Bed and 
Walk, . . . .193 



Come unto Me, 
Entreaty, . 
A* Prayer, 
A Retrospect, 



193 

. 195 

196 

. 197 



INTRODUCTION. 



The bard, though simple he may be, 
His lyre doth tune from every tree, 
And chirping sparrow, chipmunk gray. 
And grass-blade growing by the way. 

The king of day, low in the west, 
A chord doth vibrate in his breast ; 
The gay grasshopper in the grass. 
Sings merrier as he doth pass. 

The sprightly cricket in his road. 
The awkward-looking dark-gray toad. 
The singing lark on stalk o' corn. 
Or hawk on last year' s stack forlorn. 
The whirring chicken, passing near. 
All create music for his ear. 

Must he, tho' held down wi' the chain 
Of abject poverty, refrain 
To sing the simple, inborn strain, 
That there no longer can remain? 

Can he not sing, tho' toil he may 
For bread, not born in fortune's way? 
A hapless wight, but ta'en to rhymes. 
Fruitless, but not the worst of crimes ! 
Shall he not sing ? Aye, aye, he must ! 
In prose his spirit soon would rust. 



INTRODUCTION. 

His heart is full, and he must sing — 
His homely rhymes are on the wing ! 
To sing the feelings of hi§ heart — 
The wellings-up there, to impart. 
He doth desire — it is his aim ; 
Nor dreameth he of reaching fame. 

An honest, sympathizing soul, 
That lights a flame, as coal doth coal ; 
This would he be, and hence he flings 
His heart and soul in what he sings ; 
If haply he may drive cold care. 
And warm a heart that shivered bare. 



POEMS, BALLADS, AND SONGS 



THE POET'S MISSION. 

They tell us we are wasting time, 
In meas' ring verse and jingling rhyme ; 
That other things would bring more gold, 
For poetry is seldom sold. 

They tell us — and- it may be true — 
That poets are a ' ' crack-brained ' ' crew, 
Who live in castles built of verse — 
Thank God, if ' t were in nothing worse. 

They tell us, aye, that they are fools. 
The ' ' rara avis ' ' of the schools ; 
From whom each dutice may pluck a quill, 
Wherewith to tickle us at will. 

We may be fools ; we do n't deny 
Attempting unknown heights to fly ; 
Our thoughts are loose — away they go 
O'er field and flood, cry "tally-ho !" 

We would not check them if we could ; 
We could not do it if we would ; 
The mind is such a wondrous thing, 
We could for aye its wonders sing. 

(9) 



10 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

We roam o' er mountain, hill and plain ; 
With pleasure ride the raging main ; 
We flowers pluck 'mid tropic glow, 
Or wrap with furs in northern snow. 

We sail the quiet river on, 

Or dwell with people, dead and gone. 

We see a ruin, and soon rise 

The moss-grown turrets to the skies ; 

The long-gone battlements are there, 
Where lovers walk in praise or prayer ; 
' And warriors grim in castled hall, • 

Make answer to the warder's call ; ' 

Where knight goes forth for ladj fair. 
And clash of steel is on the air ; 
The neigh of steed, and warrior's shout. 
Which tell of victory and rout, 

The maiden, weeping in the bower. 
Awaits the long-delayed hour ; 
The lover hastens, there to meet 
The one, of all the earth, most sweet. 

Of high-born love, and homely joy, 
^ And purest gold without alloy ; 
Of mansion and of hut so small. 
He sings, for he doth know them all. 

He hath a mission to perform. 
Or in the sunshine or the storm ; 
From lowest earth to highest sky, 
-- The theme he sings can never die. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. H 

Oh, who hath richer feast than we ? 
We roam the world, in fancy free ; 
At richest tables sit at meat, 
Or with the poorest we can eat ! 

The Czar of Kussia cannot boast 
Of pleasm^es we enjoy the most ; 
The Emperor of China knows 
IN^aiight of the fire that in us glows. 

The heavens above, the earth beneath 
The forest and the blooming heath ; 
The fish in sea, the beast in lair, 
Are all the poet's tender care. ,^ 

His love to man, his love to God, 

Is scarce, if ever, understood ; 

He lives to love ; in all his dreams * 

' T is love that fills the two extremes. 

The poet sings : we hear the song, 
And sweet its strains do linger long ; 
We heard it when our years were few, 
As ' t fell' from mother' s lips so new. 

We heard it later, when we wept. 
And hope within our bosom crept ; * - 

When laying loved ones 'neath the sod, 
The poet sang of heaven and God. 

We hear it in our middle years. 
When we are traveling on in tears ; 
And then we hear it later on, ' 

As we are stumbling, blind, alone. 



12 ' PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

He sings to us in tender lays, 
Of other loves in other days ; 
He raises us to higher heights, 
Treats our dim eyes to grander sights : 

And we forget we are not young. 

And b'lieve the themes that he has sung; 

We live the best of life again, 

Enjoy the sweets, forget the pain. 

Once more we hold our children dear, 
And cease to shed the burning tear ; 
Once more we kiss our loved ones true, 
And smile as we were wont to do. 

The poet sings this life to bless. 
And God removes the bitterness. 
We linger on; threescore and ten 
May find us old, but better men. 

The poet sings : we look ahead 
To see our friends — they are not dead ; 
But just have passed along before, 
And wait to meet us at the shore. 

The poet sings : we hear the strain, 
It sounds above the raging main ; 
The harps beyond take up the song, 
With it the heavenly hills prolong. 

The poet sings : the stream is passed. 
And we have reached our home at last ; 
The strains the earthly poet sung. 
Are sung in heaven by every tongue. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 13 

The poet sings : he may be poor, 
May beg his bread from door to door ; 
But he is rich, as you may see, 
Because he sings to God and thee. 

The poet sings, and sing he will 
Till the last beating heart is still ; 
The song he sings, a song of love, 
Was sent to him by God above. 



THE KANSAS PIONEER, 



Yes, I had a hard time, stranger. 
When I first came out to Kansas ; 
Thought I ' d have to give it up, sir. 
No man knows better than I do 
What we people had to live on. 

Why, I '11 tell you, when I came here, 
I ' d no house, except a sod one. 
I gathered "cow chips" on the prairie, 
And the big weeds in the hollows. 
And the dead and sun-dried willows 
That had fallen in the valleys — 
Burnt off bv the fire, and fallen : 
Fire set out by careless herders. 
Which the wind had driven o'er them- 
Gathered these to cook our victuals. 



14 PnAIRIE FLOWERS. 

I could tell you how I managed, 
Hauling corn-stalks for my fuel, 
On the coldest days in winter. 
Fifteen miles across the prairie. 
With no wagon-track to guide me — 
Nothing but a sea of prairie 
Rolling before, behind, beside me. 
And the winter sky above me. , 
Oh ! I tell you it was lonesome ; 
But I had the grit to stand it. 

I have carted loads of dry bones 

Sixty miles across the prairie. 

On the trail from Medicine river 

To the great Arkansas valley, 

To Wichita, now called a city — 

Sometimes, Queen of Southwest Kansas. 

Then it only was a village. 

Where the white man and the Indian 

Met on common ground and traded. 

I could tell you how I labored, 
How I turned the sod and planted. 
With a spade, some corn and pumpkins. 
Then they wrote from Indiana, 

"How are things 'way out in Kansas?" 
Yes, they called it "starving Kansas," 
And they told me, taunting, told me, 

"You '11 be back inside a twelvemonth ! " 
But I told them, "No, I guess not" ; 
And, to make the matter surer. 
Burnt the bridges all behind me — 
Could n't have gone back if I 'd wanted. 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 15 

I could tell you of the dry years, 
When the people grew discouraged, 
Because the rain was- slow in coming. 
Some of them got up and "dusted" ; 
Went back east to see their people, 
Back to see their wife's relation. 

They could not stand some real privation. 
And become adopted Kansans. 
They did n't like the Kansas zephyrs ; 
They longed for trees, and not grasshoppers ; 
They hungered for the leeks and onions, 
And the black flesh-pots of Egypt. 

They could n' t stand prairie manna. 
Which, a Providence had sent them, 
That would make them self-supporting. 
So they rigged their prairie schooners. 
Left their claims to find new owners, 
Who might profit by their labors. 

« 

Claims not long to lie in waiting ; 
Men soon came who had the backbone ; 
Patched up those "deserted" mansions. 
Threw more earth upon the ' ' dug-out, ' ' 
Chinked the cracks and gathered fuel, 
-'And made ready for the winter. 

Now the very ones that left us, 
Often write to make inquiry ; 
And our best respects we send them, 
Tell them what they lost by leaving ; 
Lost a farm that 's worth four thousand. 
And a life of independence. 



16 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

I could tell you what I wrote them, 

Wrote to friends in Indiana, 

Wrote to friends in the Blue Hen State, 

How I praised the skies of Kansas, 

How I talked about the prairies. 

How I told about the flowers 

That grew wild around my sod house. 

How I told them corn and pumpkins 
Grew without a bit of labor. 
And about the watermelons, 
Grown on sod in such abundance. 
I' told them how the wife and babies 
All grew fat, with cheeks as rosy 
As the sky before the sunrise. 

I could tell you how I labored. 
How I loved to plant the sod-corn. 
Pick the red sand-plum in summer, 
Catch a sly shot at the wild geese 
That in such great flocks went over, 
As the sun at times to darken. 



I can tell you we were happy. 
Many a day in that sod shanty. 
Frugal was our fare, but plenty. 
Best of all, we were contented. 
We had no sickness; not a doctor 
Ever came to feel our pulses — 
Could not dose us with his physic, 
Nor shove an awful bill upon us. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 17 

Furthermore, I ' 11 tell you, stranger, 
I got a cow, some pigs and poultry. 
All the prairie was a pasture ; 
Tho' I had no fence nor hedges, 
I made shift with rope and picket, 
So had milk and butter plenty. 
And the pigs grew fat on sod-corn. 
As to eggs, they were not lacking. 

Bye and bye we had some neighbors 
That had come to stay like we did. 
People could not miss such chances ; 
Homes for poor folks lying idle. 
Rich land waiting for the furrow 
To be turned by the bright plowshare ; 
Rich land waiting to be growing 
Wheat and corn for the careful farmer. 
Who in the east had been a renter. 
And with all his time and labor 
Could barely earn a scanty living. 

I tell you, stranger, independence 
Is what makes the Kansas farmer 
Look so cheerful and so happy. 
Think about it ; look around you ! 
Here I 've got a quarter-section, 
All my own, and I can plant it. 
Reap the crop and go and sell it, 
And put the money in my pocket. 
I do n' t have to ask my landlord 
If he '11 buy some fertilizer — 
Truck to make the land productive. 



18 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

I do n't have to ask my landlord 
If I can buy an extra heifer, 
Raise some geese, or a few turkeys, 
Like they do in eastern States, sir. 

What 's become of that sod shanty? 
Well, it ain't no beauty, stranger. 
But it did its duty well, sir. 
You see that pile out in the orchard ? 
That 's the ruins of the "mansion." 
I have my boys to plow around it, 
And let it rest for good it has done. 
My wife and I have lived on little — 
Eoasted sod-corn and stewed " punkins " ; 
Raised up children plump and hearty. 

There we burnt ' ' coal of the prairie, ' ' 

Gathered often by the sackful ; 

There we trembled for the future. 

Watched the Kansas storm arising. 

Heard the roar of heavy thunder, 

The dashing rain upon the prairie. 

Saw the flashing, forked lightning. 

Trembled, fearful of a cyclone ; 

There we watched the storm pass over. 

Thunder rumbling in the distance ; 

Saw the splendid bow of promise 

Spread its glory 'cross the heavens, 

Shed its luster on the prairies 

In the raindrops on the grass-blades. 

All these things I 've passed through, stranger, 

When I lived in that sod shanty, 

Which is now a pile of ruin. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 19 

And I ' 11 tell you, listen, stranger, 
When I lived in that sod hovel. 
Wife and I had more contentment 
Than we have in that new mansion 
That you see so fairly planted 
On the slope of yonder hillside. 
Cares have come as well as riches ; 
Not but what we ' re moderate happy, 
For we have what we call "plenty." 
We have sheep and hogs and cattle ; 
We have gran'ries full to bursting ; 
We have something always growing, 
If it ' s nothing else but cares. 
Ha ! you laugh, but I 'm not joking. 

I could tell you something, stranger. 
Of this growing State of Kansas. 
I came to succor her, an infant. 
But she 's grown a winsome beauty. 
Still she honors those who helped her. 
When she was weak and much belabored ; 
She heaps riches up around them 
Who stand up and battle for her. 

And tlie more I understand it, 
The more I like to live in Kansas ; 
The more I love her broad prairies, 
To breathe the odor of her flowers. 
See her sunsets and sunrises. 
Watch the sparkling of her rivers. 
And the waving of her wheat-fields. 
Hear the rustling of her corn. 



20 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Listen to her lowing cattle, 
And the sheep on hillside bleating, 
Hear the clang of growing commerce, 
Listen to the shrieking whistle 
Of the coming locomotive ; 
See her spread her iron fingers, 
Bearing means to build up cities, 
Mark out farms, to build the school-house 
To educate the Kansas children, 
The men and women of the future. 
Build the church and teach religion, 
• Make the waste once barren, blossom 
Like the rose in ancient scripture. 
(You will find a pleasant picture, 
Drawn in ages far and misty ; 
But we dare claim its fulfillment. 
And to claim that land is Kansas, 
The ideal of the nation. 
And the center of the States.) 

I could talk to you of Kansas 

For a week, and not get weary ; 

But time wears on — so come in, stranger ; 

Get a rest and some refreshment, 

And I '11 talk to you to-morrow. 



NO DIFFERENCE. 



Why are the poor dissatisfied, 

And cry for the rich man' s wealth ? 

Why do the rich, on th' other side. 
Long for the poor man' s health ? 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 21 

The one lias much, yet little feels 

He hath so much to bless ; 
The one so little, helpless kneels 

In utter helplessness. 



HOW PLEASANT T IS TO READ. 



How PLEASANT ' t is to read 

The tales of long ago. 
Of poets dead, and feel the glow 
Their verse inspires. This I love : 
To roam in rhyme, and so prove 
That spirits, aye, may hold converse 
In manner thus, nor be the worse 

For talking with the dead. 



TO A DEAD POET. 



I AM thinking, O my brother, of the times that used to be, 
When we wandered far together — like the birds we were 

as free. 
Then we sang the songs of gladness, and we told the tales 

of love. 
As we watched the lights and shadows of the clouds that 

flew above. 



22 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Yes, we roamed the fields together, and we waded in the 

brook. 
Or we sat and dreamed for hours in some shady, quiet 

nook. 
Then we ' d go where crowds of people went with hurry 

on their way, 
Like the waters onward rushing from the streamlet to the 

bay. 

I remember, O my brother, how you ofttimes used to say 
That the people did not know you, as you passed along 

the way ; 
You would smite your hands together, and would humbly 

bow your head. 
Saying, ''They will know me better, tho' it may be when 

I 'm dead." 

You had noble aspirations, and you longed to climb the 

height. 
Where the air you breathed was purerj and the heavens 

were more bright ; 
Where the soul could view its Maker, and where man to 

man was kind. 
In the Paradise of beauty, and the garden of the mind. 

But you 've passed the vale of shadows, and you 've 
reached the land of light ; 

You have done with earthly sorrows, and with envy' s noi- 
some blight ; 

Never more the wreaking arrows of the foe of all that 's 
good 

Can smite yoii 'neath the armor, as *you pass the lonesome 
wood. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 23 

It were better, O m j brother, that you went from hence away, 
Where the streets are paved with jasper, and with gold 

of purest ray ; 
For the road you left was dusty, and with stones the way 

was strewn ; 
There were serpents in the hedges, and the lanes were 

dank and lone. 

There you bask in God's own sunshine, here the way was 
ofttimes cold ; 

Here your friends did often grieve you, there your friend- 
ships ne' er grow old. 

Here was music mixed with sadness, there the strains are 
naught but joy ; 

God hath changed thy tears to gladness, and thy soul hath 
full employ. 

There the Father comprehends you, tho' we failed to know 
you here ; 

We will follow in your footsteps as we live from year to 
year ; 

And when bye and bye, our yearnings have reached the 

long-sought goal. 
We will live for aye together in the haven of the soul. 



THE REPORTER. 



Of all the folks that wander thro' this wide world up and 
down. 

The reporter is the greatest man — we'll not except the 

clown. 
His nose he 's always poking into other folks' affairs ; 
He knows they often frown at him, but very little cares. 



24 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

He's here and there and everywhere, in early place and 

late ; 
No matter what the company is, you'll always find his 

pate : 
His pencil in his fingers, and his note-book on his knee, 
While everything that ' s going on, next day you ' re apt 

to see. 



No matter what the subject is, nor matters it who done it, 
You'll see it down in black and white — you may depend 

upon it. 
Mayhap, a lady puts her foot upon an orange peeling — 
An accident — he jots it down, nor cares a fig for feeling. 



If slander dire should till the air, and some, good names 

should doubt. 
He quickly hunts the matter up, and "lets the cat right 

out." 
If married men should show their cooks a little too much 

favor, 
He ' 11 dish the ' ' savory pottage ' ' up, with salt-and-pepper 

flavor. 



If a married woman likes too well some other woman's 

man, 
That woman ' s sure to catch it then as only a woman can. 
The politicians all are his — "his own good lawful prey" — 
The way he handles them is rough — so ' t least the victims 

say. 



PRAIRIE FLOWER 8. 25 

The least wrong step lie ever made, no matter when or 

where, 
His evil deeds are hawked about, and told of far and near. 
His virtuous acts are all forgot — except by the other side, 
Who kindly cover his failings up, at least all they can hide. 



Then straightway he is interviewed, and gives himself away, 
For all he says is duly told in dailies of next day. 
' T is then he tries to take it back, and says it ' s all a lie ; 
Th' reporter claims it ' s all a trick, and stands him cap-a- 
pie. 



And if, by chance, he gets the place for which he labored 

sore. 
He ' 11 find no chance to make a slip — they watch him 

evermore. 
We ' ve told you what reporters do — a part of it, at 

least — 
But after all, their table ' s not a table all a feast. 



They have their trials as other men, and fightings many a 

one ; 
And often when the world's asleep, their work has just 

begun. 
They labor by the midnight oil o'er crooked marks and 

signs, 
While papers high are piled about, enough to craze their 

minds. 

—3 



26 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

One writes the parson's sermon up in columns two or 
three — 

In fifteen minutes you can read an hour's delivery. 

Then very often they will "hedge" and turn on the re- 
porter, 

"He said some things I didn't say, and did n't' say what 
he ought to." 



But then they 're s' posed to know so much, what dif'rence 

should it make ? 
What's heard and seen is duly told — who cares if heads 

do ache? 
'Tis true, when comes the circus show, with horse and 

wagons gay. 
He often sees the elephant without a cent of pay ! 



Pay ! did I say ? well to the boys that sure would be 

enough ; 
But that reporter's pay is just "a quarter-column puff." 
And every time he meets a friend, or bids the time of day. 
The world is such a foolish thing — it thinks he'll for it 

pay. 



Betimes the sleight-of-hand man comes, with queerly- 

wrought regalia ; 
Soon hunts he that reporter up to show his paraphernalia. 
'Tis so at night he comes in free, to th' boys it seems like 

magic ; 
But the reporter knows quite well the end is not so tragic : 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 27 

For see next day, in letters black, his mystic arts are told ; 
'T is then the quack is glad at heart — 't is good to him as 

gold. 
Now would you the reporter blame for doing thus what he 

did? 
He ' s such a sympathetic man, he thinks such things are 

needed. 

The world is full of fools, he knows, who ' re sure to be all 
cheated ; 

And so he feels his work not done, until that part 's com- 
pleted. 

But then he gives it to the great, and yet the great do n' t 
mind 'im ; 

They know his business is just that, and know right where 
to find him. 

Howe' er he holds their foibles up, explaining each minutia. 

While the people fall a-cursing him, as they do the Jews 
in Russia. 

' T is thus he goes through life's long role, his daily work 
pursuing : 

To chronicle each event in scroll for the whole world' s re- 
viewing. 

And when the close of life draws near, his back he ' s laid 
supine on ; 

To friends he wills his note-book dear ; his body, the worms 
to dine on. 

He feels his work has been to lift the bulk of civilization; 

So leaves his thoughts, like yeast, to lift the rising genera- 
tion. 



28 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

He breathes his last; away he's laid, and at his head in 

marble, 
^ ' Here lies the dead, the honored dead, ' ' or some such 

other garble. 
But often comes the honor when the honored low are lying — 
Sometimes it cometh just before, but comforts poor the dying. 

While these are going, others come, take up the work 

they 're leaving; 
Kecord the world's play going on, the laughter and the 

grieving. 
So noiseless turns the wheel of Time, and dies its sons and 

daughters — 
But let us not forget the mound where lieth the reporters. 



THE FAULT-FINDER. 



Of all things troublous ' neath heaven' s broad span, 
The worst, to my notion, ' s a fault-finding man ; 
He was born finding fault, and so he will die, 
Finding fault as his soul to hades shall fly. 

He found fault when little, and found it when big ; 
He found fault with the cow, and fault with the pig ; 
He found fault with the clock, and likewise the shelf - 
Was not at all satisfied e' en with himself. 

When he got married, he found fault with his wife, 
And made his fault-finding the plague of her life. 
He found fault with her children, calling them brats ; 
He swore at the dogs, and he kicked at the cats ; 



PRAIRIE FLOWER 8. 29 

He found fault with her cooking, and what she cooked ; 
He found fault with her clothing, and how she looked ; 
With her he found fault when she bought a new hat ; 
When wearing her old one, he found fault with that. 

He found fault because she had worn her shoes out, 
Then with her found fault for going without : 
He found fault with her for wanting a new dress ; 
And when she wished none, why, he found ne'er the less. 

He found fault with the butter, fault with the cream, 
And kept the house crazy from cellar to beam ; 
If he had nothing else he could find fault at, 
He would find fault with lard, because it wsLsfaf. 

He found fault with politics, county and state ; 
And fault with his neighbors from early to late ; 
The church did n' t suit him, and he found fault with it ; 
Till grim death stop him, will he fault-finding quit. 

He found fault with his house, his bed and his board, 
And certain it is, he found fault with the Lord ; 
'Tis rather a question but on the last morn, 
He will try to find fault with Gabriel's horn! 



A MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. 
(a pastoral monologue.) 



In the country by the wayside. 
In the woods, or by the stream. 

Where the view by nature ' s bounded. 
Where her children live and dream, 



30 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

How I love the morning breezes, 
Skipping o ' er earth' s dewy bed ; 

How a thousand charms do please ns - 
Love and beauty 'round us spread. 

Hear the songster in the treetop. 

Hear the cricket in the grass. 
See the cattle in the meadow, 

Feeding slowly as we pass. 

Smell the odor of wild roses, 
Growing yonder in the dell. 

See, the bee is on its journey 

Where the clover blossoms swell. 

Yonder plowman turns his furrow. 
Whistling as he drives along, 

While the milk-maid's "so-so. Cherry, 
Mixes with her scraps of song. 

See the smoke from yonder chimney. 
As it curls its upward way. 

Hear the crows a-cawing — cawing — 
They are building nests to-day. 

See the mountain in the distance, 

' Round its top the hazy blue ; 

On its slopes the pine trees waving, 

"Lend enchantment to the view." 

Now I reach the rushing river. 
Gazing in its cool, clear tide ; 
See the fishlet, in the sunshine, 
' Dart about from side to side. 



5) 



PRAIRIE FLOWER 8, 31 

On its banks the bramble groweth, 

Just below the little bridge, 
Where the streamlet, through the meadow, 

Fioweth from the distant ridge. 

Oh ! the bliss, the joy of dreaming. 

Far from city din and strife ; 
Stretched at length within the shadow — 

Here 's a lengthened lease of life. 

Here 's a joy that 's worth possessing ; 

Nature's child at last gives way 
To a mother's own caressing. 

To a mother's loving sway. 

She hath shown me all her pictures, 
Hung where wisdom taught her best ; 

Mountain, pine trees, smoke, and river. 
Even to the crow's rough nest. 

Shown me where her flower garden. 
Growing, breathes its sweet perfume, 

O 'er the parched and wasting places. 
Going with us to the tomb. 

Here is life and here is gladness, 
Tho' the world hath much of pain ; 

Know, thou must, the bow of promise 
Cometh not till after rain. 

Free the mind is, like the pigeon 

Fluttering over yonder cote ; 
Reason cowers in the lowlands. 

Durst not set its wings afloat. 



32 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Faith mounts up on wings of eagle, 
Halts not on its upward way, 

Piercing, passing clouds of sorrow, 
To the realm of brightest day. 

But we ' re bound in earthen vessels. 
Fear and pain our heritage ; 

Tho' the book of life ' s before us. 
Stop we at its foremost page. 

Why not read in all this beauty 
That 's before, around us spread, 

How that God, our Father, loveth? — 
He, the Holy, Living Head. 

Can we, dare we say that chance is 
All there is ; there is no God ? 

Ends all human aspiration 

When we ' re laid beneath the clod ? 

JSTay, oh, nay ! I will not have it ; 

For our human needs are such. 
Human hopes and human longings, 

They ask more than human touch. 

And the soul, forever seeking, 
If, perchance, it may not find 

Something grander, the Omniscience - 
Will not always be so blind. 



The wheel of time, forever turning. 
Turns not backward in its flight ; 

Fly we swiftly on our journey. 
Turning not to left nor right. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 33 

Let us take the golden chalice, 
Tendered us by God' s own hand ; 

Drink the wine of joy forever, 
Live the life he for us planned. 



SEVEN PICTURES. 



Two CHILDREN playing in the sand — 
A boy, 'a girl — their laughter floats 

Across the hedge ; out o' er the land 
Echo doth bear the childish notes. 

Lo ! school is out, a lad and lass 

Go tripping homeward, side by side ; 

Her hand in his, they onward pass ; 
Her cheeks are red, he happy-eyed. 

A youth, and maiden debonnair. 
Are seated in an arbor' s shade ; 

They plight their troth, nor dream of care 
O joyous youth, thrice happy maid ! 

A church decked out for holiday ; 

A crowd of friends and pastor wait ; 
The pair are wed, and go their way 

Along life' s road to meet their fate. 

A year rolls round, a matron' s tread 
Goes softly round the darkened room ; 

The husband sits with bowed head, 
For grief has come upon their home. 



34 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

' T is twenty years, and lo ! again 

They ' re called to part with one they love ; 

The same old tale — two shall be twain 
One flesh, along through life to move. 

' T is forty years, a stooping frame, 
In grief is bending o' er a bed : 

A life goes oiit : ' t is e' er the same — 
We leave the living with the dead. 



AN HONEST MAN. 



Give me an independent man, 

Whom money cannot buy ; 
A man, whose heart is in his hand, 

Wkose honor ' s in his eye. 

Give me the man who can withstand 

Temptation' s wily throng ; 
Whose sword of might 's in his right hand. 

With which to subdue wrong. 

Give me the man whose honest breast 
Doth never cringe, nor kneels — 

Who owns the part that he likes best, 
And speaks just what he feels. 

Give me the man who, when he knows 

That he ' s wronged another, 
To seek his pardon straightway goes. 

And reconciles his brother. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 35 

Give me the man who, when opprest 

By wrong and mortal foes, 
That ever has within his breast 

A thought for other' s woes. 

Give me the man who loves his wife, 

His children, and his home ; 
Who ever guards them with his life 

From evils that may come. 

Give me that man, and such a man 

I '11 trust with all my might ; 
You '11 find him doing all he can, 

And foremost in the right. 



TO MY NATIVE STATE. 



Oh, home of my childhood ! Oh, land of my youth ! 

How thy memories cling to me round ; 
There first I saw light, and always, forsooth, 

Will thy ground be hallowed ground. 

Smallest but one in th' bright constellation 
That lights up the world with its flame. 

Thou boldest thine own i' the ranks of th' Nation — 
Then why should I blush at thy name? 

Tho' far away from thee so long do I roam — 

Viewed many new faces since then — 
Yet still do I long for the faces at home, 

How I long to see them again ! 



36 PBAIRIE FLOWERS. 

There to wander about in the pine trees' shade, 

And to hear the old-time birds sing ; 
To gather sweet flowers that never will fade 

While memory shall unto me cling. 

To catch the bright sun-fish in some shadj nook, 

In the mill-pond near to mj home ; 
Or else I would read in some old thumb-worn book. 

And dream of the times that should come. 

Or else, when the cherries, with their cheeks all red, 

Were ripe, and so sweet and so free, 
I ' ye climbed up and ate, while over my head 

Some bird sweetly sang in the tree. 

Or when ' t was the time of the blushing peach, 

Rich flavored, and covered with down. 
Which gave up its treasures the lesson to teach. 

That use was its beauty and crown. 

And often have I, in the warm summer-time. 

With companions all young and free. 
Gone down to the bay for a scent of the brine. 

And lave in the blue rolling sea. 

And oft with bare feet, on the sun-warmed sand. 

We ran and we shouted so glad. 
While the light, cool breeze drove the waves up the 

We never once thought to be sad ! [strand — 

We gathered the pebbles along the fair shore. 

And the shells so pretty to see ; 
Sometimes I am sorry those days are all o'er. 

Their memories do cling so to me. 



PBAIBIE FLOWEBS. 37 

But alas, oh, alas ! My childhood is past ! 

The days of my youth are no more ; 
But to me, so long as these memories last. 

Their joys are the same as of yore. 

Tho' far I have left thee, O land of my birth ! 

Delaware ! land of peach and pine ! 
No spot is more cherished by me on the earth 

Than thy shores, all washed with the brine. 

Hurrah for that land where the chestnut and gum 

Are fanned by the winds from the sea ! 
Can e' er I forget thee ? Not till death shall benumb, 

Shalt thou be forgotten by me ! 



SPARROW GRAY. 



Chirping sparrow. 

Sparrow gray, 
Think' st thou not of want to-day ? 

Little sparrow, 

Of to-morrow 
Never think you once, I pray? 

Chit' ring sparrow, 

Sparrow gray. 
Tell me why thou ' rt in my way ? 

Sparrow, teasing, 

Ever pleasing. 
Out of reach you ever stay.'' 



38 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Happy sparrow, 
Sparrow blest, 

Trouble dwells not in thy breast 
On thee blessings, 
And caressings — 

' T is thy lover' s own behest. 

Hopping sparrow, 

Sparrow gray, 
I am glad thou' rt here to-day ; 

Welcome, sparrow ! 

Come to-morrow ! 
Come a-hopping in my way. 

Chirp, my sparrow. 

Sparrow gray, 
As I pass along my way ; 

Harmless ever. 

Safe forever, 
Chirrup to me every day. 



OLD AGE. 



Speak to them gently, 

Treat them with care ; 
Give them the fireside's 

Easiest chair. 
They wept for you once. 

Parental tears ; 
Do n't let them weep now 

Smooth the gray hairs. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. . 39 

Age has its childhood, 

Weakness, and ills ; 
Oh, how a kind word 

Grandmother thrills. 
Grandfather totters 

By on his crutch ; 
How warms his old heart 

At friendly touch. 

Speak to them kindly. 

Banish their fears ; 
Their eyes, though dim, are 

Quick to shed tears. 
Make their life easy 

Down the incline ; 
So shall thy children 

Make for thee thine. 



THE NOBLER WAY. 



Come, thou man of drooping eyelid. 
Come, thou one of mournful song, 

Lift your wan face towards the heavens 
You have wept by far too long. 

Life is far too short to use it 

Altogether as your own ; 
Scripture bids us not abuse it — 

At the best ' t is but a loan. 

We are stopping but a moment 
On these busy shores of time ; 

We should be alert and moving 
In the very van of prime. 



40 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Lift your voice and let thejiations 
Know your whereabouts, and be 

Eeady e'er to lift the fallen, • 

Lend a smile to misery. 

'T is no place for selfish mortals 
To sit down to weep, and say 

They have missed their avocation — 
They can nothing do but pray. 

Pray we ought ; but we ' re commanded 
E ' en to watch and pray as well ; 

For the moment the thief cometh 
We may never guess nor tell. 

There is much we might be doing, 
For we much to others owe ; 

Want and woe are all around us — 
Dare we hence a debtor go ? 

You can ne' er bring back the water 
Which a-past the wheel hath run ; 
V Neither can you claim to-morrow — 
You may never see its sun ! 

This to-day is your possession ; 

Wonderful its wealth and worth ; 
Sit not idly with digression. 

Shaming her who gave you birth. 

Take your place in line of progress, 
JSTor think long on past misdeed ; • 

Make this world your field of action — 
Love and duty make your creed. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 41 

Men will saj, who come hereafter, 
"He was one who sought to take . 
His own burdens, make the pathway 
Clearer, better, for our sake. ' ' 

Men will love you, and revere you, 

And will say you were a man 
They can safely follow after : 

You have fulfilled life's great plan. 



THEY TELL ME LOVE IS ALL A MYTH. 



They tell me love is all a myth. 

And marriage but a notion ; 
That freemen never should embark 

On matrimony' s ocean : 

There 's rocks ahead, and breakers, too. 
And many a coral reef there ; 

And horrid wails and dismal tales — 
The nights are full of grief there. 

If that is so, pray let me know. 

These volunteers, whence come they? 

They look so brave, why then not save 
Them certain ruin, some day? 

O sirs, beware ! these maidens are 

Like sirens of the ocean : 
Their laugh but serves to drown the storm 

And still the heart's commotion. 

—4 



42 PBAIRIE FLOWERS. 

In ancient times, those sirens sang 
To the mar' ners on the sea ; 

Then laughed in glee, as they beheld 
Their death-laden victory. 

Away ! away ! with such old tales. 
From out the Grecian fable ; 

Old Homer was too blind to write — 
His pictures are too sable. 

For men will love, and maidens too, 
And hearts will yet be broken ; 

Because that some have failed to give 
Full answer to this token. 

The queen will love upon the throne, 
And peasant maid in cottage ; 

The high and low its thralldom seek, 
From youth 'till tot' ring dotage. 

Then wherefore cast its bonds aside. 
And lightly speak of marriage ? — 

The fairest scope of human aim. 
The acme of this fair age. 

More wars were fought, and ruin wrought 
For love, than any passion 

That ever swayed the human heart, 
Since love's divine creation. 

For maids will love, and men will do 
For aye, love's gentle leading. 

From poorest hut to castled hall, 
In spite of all forbidding. 



PRAIBIE FLOWERS. 43 

Woe is the day, and dark the hour-^ 
Yes, midnight would be pale there — 

When love has lost its magic power. 
And marriage is a failure. 



ONLY A BIT OF MOSS. 



* ' Only a bit of moss, ' ' jou say ; 

And do you think 't is naught ? 
'T is just as wondrous in its way 

As aught that God has wrought. 
Wilt thou behold its glist'ning spires? 

Just bow upon your knee ! 
The grand old oak that lights your fires 

Can no more wondrous be. 

'T is true it reaches not the height 

The giant oak has done ; 
And yet to me no grander sight 

Is 'neath the shining sun. 
How beautiful is its bright green ; 

What painter can compete? 
Have you more beautiful e'er seen. 

Or color more complete? 

And then ' t is here in winter-time. 

When flowers all are dead ; 
It bursts forth in its beauty prime, 

As at our feet ' t is spread. 
A mighty power is here unfurled : 

It doth of wisdom take 
To teach, the power that made the world, 

This bit of moss did make. 



4:4: PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

It took as much creative power 

To cause this moss to grow, 
As made to bloom the rarest flower 

That e' er on earth did blow ; 
Creative power reached as far 

In this one act alone, 
As when it reached to make a star, 

Or e'en to make the sun ! 

Thou shouldst naught therefore despise, 

Though small perchance it be ; 
God placed His work before our eyes* — 

He placed it there to see ; 
The mountain and the grain of sand. 

The ocean and the spring, 
Each is the labor of His hand. 

Each equal praises sing. 



AMBITION. 



A CROWN of might I would not wear ; 

Sufficient care is to the poor : 
Who power has, must trouble bear, 

And I would have no more. 
He who seeks to rise beyond 

The common level of mankind, 
Must suffer pain and with' ring scorn 

From those he leaves behind. 
Ambition is a dangerous thing ; 

It leads to dizzy heights above. 
Where one meets storms and buffeting 

I ' d rather dwell below with love. 



PBAIBIE FL0WEB8. 45 



REST, MY BROTHER. 

[Ode recited at the grave of a dead comrade of the Select Knights, A. O, U. W., on 
Decoration Day.] 

Rest, my brother, comrade, rest. 
While we stand to-day, thy guest ; 
Sleep beneath this arch of steel, 
Sleep in quiet, while we kneel — 

While we deck thy grave with flowers, 
Rest, my comrade, rest. 



Rest, my brother, comrade, rest, 
' JSTeath the green prairie' s breast ; 
Where the spring-time flowers blow, 
Where the breezes come and go — 

While we deck thy grave with flowers, 
Rest, my comrade, rest. 



Rest, my brother, comrade, rest. 
By no cares of earth opprest ; 
By this token know our love. 
May we ever brothers prove — 

While we deck thy grave with flowers, 
Rest, my comrade, rest. 



Rest, my brother, comrade, rest ; 
We must each one prove this test j 
Rise we, stand we, ever so, 
To protect against each foe — 

While we deck thy grave with flowers, 
Rest, my comrade, rest. 



46 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Kest, my brother, comrade, rest, 
In the domain of the blest ; 
Kest assured that we will care 
Well for those thou ' st left us here — 

While we deck thy grave with flowers, 
Kest, my comrade, rest. 

Kest, my brother, comrade, rest 
Thy tired head on nature's breast ; 
All the toils of this life o'er, 
Thou wilt meet with us no more — 

While we deck thy grave with florwers, 
Hest, my comrade, rest. 



EARTH'S UNATTAINABLE. 



There ' s imagery I cannot paint, 
And songs that stay unsung ; 

I cannot tell the tales so quainjb 
That quiver on my tongue. 

The heart's best songs are often like 

The meteor in the night : 
They full upon the vision strike. 

Then vanish from our sight. 

The soul's best music often seems 

To come when all alone ; 
We strain our ear — but as our dreams, 

It fainter grows — 'tis gone. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 47 

The pictures that we seem to see 

Are not the ones in view ; 
The soul looks out bejond the lea, 

And far beyond the blue. 

We are not checked by time nor space — 

The mind brooks no control ; 
The body may be bound by space — 

That cannot bind the soul. 

The chimes thereof are tuned betimes 

To sing no earth-born psalm ; 
There comes a breeze from distant climes 

That brings a holy calm. 

The tales of earth are fraught with pain^ — 

Love 's not without alloy ; 
Discord lurks in each music strain, 

And sorrow walks with joy. 

We pluck the rose, but feel its thorn — 

We breathe its sweet perfume ; 
Tho' bright the sunrise in the morn, 

The night may bring its gloom. 

Shine on, bright images to me. 

Blow fresh, thou heaven-born breeze ; 

Come, soul-inspiring melody, 
And give the worn heart ease. 

Tho' dark the night, the morn will break — 

Full light will come to me ; 
And all eternity shall make 

My soul sweet melody. 



48 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

TO A SPIDER. 
[seen oist a lady's bonnet at church, a fact.] 



What are jou doing there, jou fright ? 
Faith ! jou present a ghastly sight, 
Devouring flies in broad daylight, 

And right in meeting ; 
You ugly thing ! you must delight 

In what you ' re eating. 

Grizzly beast ! you hungry scorner I 
Why not go to some far corner. 
Spread your net, and play reformer. 

All on the sly ? 
( Stay, you brute ; I '11 not inform her — 

So eat your fly.) 

But what possest you, woman's pest, 
To crawl upon this lady's best 
New Sunday bonnet, for a feast, 

Before a houseful ? 
For shame ! for shame ! you horrid beast, 

To eat a mouthful ! 



How she would bang you with a broom, 
If she should find you in her room. 
And quick consign you to your tomb. 

And show no pity ; 
But now you help adorn her plume — 

I think you 're gritty. 



PBAIBIE FLOWER 8. 49 

I feel that you deserve some credit — 
I think so, yes, and now I 've said it, 
Tho' I have light, 1 fail to shed it 

Now and here ; 
But let you on that bonnet tread it, 

And back hair. 

Stop ! there you go behind that flower, 
You hairy thief ! if I ' d the power 
I 'd throttle you — but tear, devour, 

Thus while you may ; 
Yet hold yourself not so secure 

Another day. 



THOSE YESTERDAYS. 



Ah ! they are gone, those yesterdays ! 
Taken each their several ways ; 
Gone to return no more to me — 
I wonder now where they can be ? 
They came to us in th' long ago. 
And like the tides that ebb and flow, 
They came with measured steps, the while. 
And stayed with us thro' frown and smile. 

Those yesterdays ! with hope so bright, 
They came and went away by night ; 
We found them here when we awoke. 
Disguised as new "to-days." They spoke 
Of happy days and visions fair. 
And joy and gladness everywhere ; 
But each hath ta'en the various ways. 
That plainly proved them yesterdays. 



50 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Those yesterdays ! with them came grief, 
And promises to give relief ; 
The summer's heat, the winter's snow. 
With them did come, with them did go. 
The bridal morn, the day of death, 
Were borne upon the self-same breath ; 
How many joys and sorrows, say. 
Were born upon a yesterday ? 

Those yesterdays I pray, can you tell 

Where they have gone? Where now they dwell? 

And are they freighted with the ways 

They bore from us, those yesterdays ? 

They heard many an idle tale, 

Saw tears that flowed without avail ; 

Heard lovers' sighs in bower hid. 

And sounds of clods on coffin-lid. 

Those yesterdays ! what joys they brought 
To those who used them as they ought ! 
Those yesterdays, when bright "to-days," 
How cheering were their winsome ways ! 
They brought the flowers in the spring. 
And leafy trees, where birds could sing ; 
Broad fields of grass, and rip'ning grain. 
The cooling breeze, and growing rain. 

Those yesterdays, with harvest smells 
Mixed with the roses from the dells, 
And waving corn upon the lea 
In vista rolls — a summer sea. -- 
The reaper's clang, the bell's sharp ring, 
That makes the hungry farm lad sing ; 
No thousand harps could sound the lays 
That I might sing of yesterdays. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 51 



Those yesterdays ! they ' re gone away ; 
To-day will soon be yesterday ! 
To-morrow rushes on our sight, 
And hope lives on some new delight. 
Tho' time and tide do never wait, 
Man's life goes out, and soon or late 
We hither go : as mist and haze 
We pass into the yesterdays. 



THAT BOY! 
[four years old.] 



That boy ! what anxious mother does not say — 
And say it twenty times or more a day — 
That boy ! that boy ! from early morn till night, 
In mischief is, and troubles me a sight. 

That boy ! what is it he is doing now? 
He ' s clambering on the fence to tease the cow. 
There ! there he goes ! now he ' s a pretty mess ! 
Hurt himself too, and that's a bran-new dress. 

There, hush, my son, (the freckled-faced fellow, 
What a voice he 's got, how he can bellow ! ) 
Now go and play — don't tease your sister, dear. 
(Well, I never! he's run afoul the chair.) 

That boy! but how would mother do without 
That boy, to do the little things about? 
(Bless my soul ! if it do n't beat the dickens ! 
He 's gone and killed my two Leghorn chickens.) 



52 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 

If ever mother worried, I ' m the one ; 
To think how much I ' ve talked to you, my son ; 
Bad boy, why do you treat your mother so? 
You love mamma? Well, let the chickens go. 

It comforts me to think that after all, 

(Be careful, son, or you may get a fall,) 

In these days strange things have come to pass. 

(Now you've done it — you've broke the looking-glass!) 

There ' s knocks enou2;h in this wide world to make 
The hearts of more than one bright boy to ache ; . 
(Get out of that! come 'way from there, my love. 
O, dear, dear, dear ! he ' s run against the stove ! ) 

You've done it now, my boy : you make me sad. 
To think — yes think — that I ' ve a child so bad 
He will not mind — you 've got an awful cough — 
(You '11 catch it now : you ' ve torn the blister off ! ) 

I never saw your match ; hush your cry up ! 
Papa is coming, mother will tie up 
The sore hand, and rock you gently to sleep ; 
Now let mother see how still you can keep. 

[ Sings:} 

Mother's boy, mother's joy. 
Freckle-faced, sun-burnt and tan ; 
He ' 11 soon be mother' s big man, 

Mother's own darling boy. 

Go to sleep, angels keep 
My child far away from sin ; 
Make him good and pure within. 

Mother's own darling boy. 



PBAIRIE FLOWERS. 53 

THE TARDY RAIN HAS COME AGAIN. 



The tardy rain has come again, 
Which stayed so long away ; 
Reviving drooping flowers, 
The sylvan shades and bowers. 
Where doth recline the sons of men 
With their beauteous daughters, when 
The sun grows low a summer's day. 

Falling, falling, on hill and lea. 
Nectar of the gods, falling fast ! 
Gathering in pools and little rills, 
That 'mong the pebbles, purling trills, 
Running towards the river in glee ; 
The river runs on to the sea. 

To be swallowed out o' sight at last. 



THE CRYSTAL CITY. 



I SING of a city, 

A rock-crystal city, 
Kingman, the city of worth ; 

She sits in her splendor. 

The crystal-salt vendor — 
Her mines can supply the earth. 

I sing of her beauty ; 

A theme and a duty 
I e' er feel called to obey ; 

Her wealth is unbounded, 

And by it surrounded. 
She sits, the queen of my lay. 



54 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

I sing of the river, 

The bountiful Giver 
Of all that ' s good has bestowed ; 

Oh, that is a treasure 

That flows without measure — 
To bless, she ever has flowed. 

I sing of her people ; 

From cellar to steeple 
Thej ' ve shown both goodness and pride ; 

Her kind-hearted ladies. 

To her a great aid is ; 
They ' re standing up side by side. 

1 sing you a ditty 

Of a rock-salt city — 
Kingman, the queen of the vale : 

The crystal-salt vendor. 

She sits in her splendor. 
Inviting the world to her sale. 



MY BABY! MY BEAUTIFUL BABY 



When first I beheld the bright sunlight 

That beamed from heaven above, 
Drew life from the lacteal fountain 

That flowed from a motherhood's love, 
I looked in the eyes of an angel 

Enshrined in a body of clay ; 
She clasped me in rapturous wonder. 

And sweet were the words she did say 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 55 

' ' My baby ! my beautiful baby ! 

God bless you for coming to me ; 
But how did you pass through the mazes 

That enwrap th' ethereal sea ? 
And what do they do in that heaven, 

You left when you came down below ? 
And how do the angels look, darling. 

You are smiling at now, I know ? 

^ ' My baby ! my beautiful baby ! 

You ' ve come to a world full of pain ; 
I fear you will be disappointed. 

And will long to return again. 
You ' ve come to a world full of sorrow, 

In which you are likely to share ; 
Where fair truth is opposed by falsehood. 

And happiness clouded with care. 

^ ' My baby ! my beautiful baby ! 

You 've traveled a long way to me ; 
God bless you, for coming, my dearest — 

Make me a good mother to thee ! 
There ' s many a tear for thy shedding. 

And many a sigh for your breast ; 
But mother will pray the good Father, 

And He will take care of the rest. 

^'My baby ! my beautiful baby" 

That baby ' s a baby no more ; 
That mother, so loving and tender. 

Has passed to the ever-green shore ; 
But her prayers, thro' sorrow and sunshine. 

Like benisons, fall on her child ; 
And I see, in visions of heaven. 

Her smile as once she smiled. 



56 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

MY BOATS. 



I builded a boat 
And set it afloat^ 
On Childhood ' s boundless sea ; 
I mated it, 
I freighted it 
With goods all dear to me. 
My boat, 
Afloat, 
Where can its haven be ? 



I built me a boat 
And set it afloat. 
Afloat on Youth ' s broad sea ; 
With Love laden ; 
Guide, a maiden : 
What was her destiny ? 
My boat. 
Afloat, 
Did not return to me. 



I builded again. 
In fear and in pain, 
A boat, but bound with brass ; 
I sought for wood 
I knew was good, 
To stand this sea of glass. 
A boat. 
Afloat, 
Through many storms must pass. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 57 

I builded with care, 
And everywhere 
Made fast each joint and seam ; 
The mast and sails 
To stand the gales ; 
Of oak was made the beam. 
My boat, 

Afloat, " 

Of loss I did not dream. 

The seashore is bleak, 
For those who are j^eak — 
A storm doth rage the sea ; 
I fear me so, 
Tho' sailor row, 
My boat a wreck will be. 
JSTo boat, 
Afloat, 
Has yet come back to me. 



THE BEAVER HOLE. 



—5 



I REMEMBER ' s if ' t Were yesterday, 
A certain place we used to play — 
A place that was to me more sweet 
Than any spot we boys could meet. 
Many a day when school was out, 
We started for it with a shout ; 
We ate our dinner as we run. 
Discarding everything but fun. 



58 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

'Twas down behind my father's lot — 

A rather uninviting spot — 

The elbow of a little stream 

That ran thro' town. This is no dream, 

But just the coldest kind of facts, 

Made up of unrecorded acts 

That really happened, bless your soul, 

Around and in the Beaver Hole. 

Across this hole there lay a log. 

From which we boys would play the frog — 

We naked boys, a rabble rout — 

And heaven help the last boy out ! 

Might be half dressed, when ' ' spat ! " " ker-thud ! ' ' 

He got it — dirt and sand and mud; 

And then he ' d have to strip and go 

And wash again from top to toe ! 

Then, just about that time, suppose 
Some rascal ran off with his clothes : 
He ' d have to sing, or dance, or beg. 
Or hop around upon one leg. 
As that young tyrant mob decreed, 
The most mischievous in the lead — 
And that was just as like to be 
As anyone, my friend, Jim P. 

Oh, how we used to flounce and dive, 
Make that old hole seem ' most alive ! 
If one had looked, they might have seen 
The water was not over-clean. 
But what was that to lads like we? 
We did not come for that, you see ! 
'T would do me good to see that crowd. 
An' hear the old laugh, lo^g and loud. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 59 

Full many a licking I have got 
For being there when I should not ; 
And many a one I missed, no doubt — 
Tho' I was there, it wa'n't found out. 
Of all that crowd, there was no hest^ 
And I was just as bad's the rest: 
They ' re all grown up, and gone, or dead : 
And my ! oh my ! how time has fled ! 

There's Will., and Fred., and Eb., and Jack, 

I call to mind, as I look back ; 

Then there was Frank, and there was Jim, 

(They've made a lawyer out of him.) — 

It ' s been so many years ago. 

There ' s some that I ' ve forgot, I know ! 

But tho' gray hairs are on my poll, 

I '11 ne'er forget the Beaver Hole ! 

I call to mind my teachers then — 

They were, no doubt, most learned men : 

There was old Fritz, a cripple he ; 

A jollier one I never did see. 

Then there was Bick, both stout and strong. 

An' tall Bill S. — he lived too long — 

Alex. F. and Professor Tarr ; 

They're gone where all the good folks are. 

Then Alfred R. — a judge out west — 
I remember well among the rest ; 
Such men as these did what they could 
To make us learned, wise and good. 
And yet, in spite of all they said, 
They never quite controlled our head ; 
For then, as now, our thoughts would roll 
Us round and in the Beaver Hole. 



60 PBAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Now men are only grown-up boys ; 
'T aint what one has, but what he 'njoys ; 
We did not stop to wish for wealth, 
As long as we were blessed with health ; 
We took our blessings as they came, 
And swam or fought, ' t was all the same ; 
We went right in, with heart and soul, 
As we went in the Beaver Hole. 

[NoTB.— This sketch is from life. Located at Greenwood, Del., where the writer 
spent seven years of his early life. The characters are real ; some of them have 
achieved a State reputation since. Some of them have passed the dark river ; and 
some have left the scenes of their childhood, to try their fortunes among strangers in 
a strange land. 

The wheel of Fortune turns many times in twenty-five years, and the writer found 
himself thinking, thinking, thinking, of other days and places. From that evolved the 
ahove. May it reach some of the " old hoys." ] 



DON'T BE IN A HURRY. 



Do n' t be in a hurry. 

Do n' t get in a stew ; 
For all of the worry 

Won't benefit you. 
The good sun still rises 

On regular time ; 
The moon makes her changes 

With order sublime. 

Don't be in a hurry — 

It agitates you y 
Instead of its helping. 

Prevents what you ' d do ; 
Increases pulsation. 

And makes the head ache ; 
Do n' t go so headlong, for 

Humanity' s sake ! 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 61 

Do n' t be in a hurr j, 

Tho' it make you rich ; 
It keeps the nerves strung up 

At too high a pitch ; - 

It robs you of sleep, and 

It gives you gray hair, 
And many a wrinkle 

On a face once fair. 

Do n't be in a hurry : 

The world is so large. 
There is still room enough. 

Do n' t go on a charge ! 
For other folks' rights are 

Quite equal to yours ; 
When life's stream is narrow, 

Just draw in the oars. 

Do n't be in a hurry. 

Except to do right ; 
For life at its longest, 

Will soon take its flight ; 
And all of the riches 

You ' ve worked so to save, 
You ' 11 never find room for, 

With you in the grave. 

Do n' t be in a hurry. 

But just take your time. 
If it be at noonday. 

At eve, or at prime. 
You'll live to grow older. 

Enjoy life the more. 
And leave earth rejoicing 

All hurry is o'er. 



62 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

A CAMEO. 



I STAND beside the flowing stream 

Where childhood's merry days were spent 

Those happy days, that came and went 

Like one long-continued dream. 

There is my likeness in the flood ; 

Also little fishes swimming 

Near the edge, and for a trimming, 

Was a small stretch of waving wood : 

In this wood the birds were singing — ■ 

Filled was the air with melody — 

Nature's music, choice remedy 

For weary souls, always bringing 

Peace, refreshing peace, aye, the best. 

It e'en affords the mem'ry rest. 



THE GOSSIP. 



PART I. 



Quoth Mrs. Smith, ' ' Good morning, Mrs. Brown ; 
Have you heard th' news that ' s goin' round the town ? 
They say that old Green's daughter Sue 
Is going to marry young Dick Drew ! 

''Oh, well, well, well, upon my life ! 
And what will he do with a wife ? 
He ' s no more use for one, I feel, 
Than wagons have with a fifth wheel. 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 63 

"He '11 not support her ; he 's too lazy ; 
Then his mother ' s about half crazy ; 
His father is good for nothing, too — 
What is it some folks will not do ? 

' ' Then Sue ' s untidy as she can be ; 
She could n ' t keep house at all for me ! 
But then she takes it from her mother ; 
An' what a man she has for a father. 

"But, by the way, where is your James? 
I think he has such noble aims ; 
If I had such a son as him, 
I ' d humor him in every whim. 

"An' Sally 's gone to school, you say? 
She ' s such a good girl, anyway. 
La me ! now there ' s old Green ' s son John, 
Takes all he can lay his hands on ! • 

"He seems devoid of every feeling. 
Except drunkenness and stealing ; 
If he ' s allowed to have his way. 
He'll go to prison, sure, some day. 

I ' m in a hurry ; I must go — 

When are you coming over to sew ? 

I've got the best machine in town. 

Good bye!" "Good day," quoth Mrs. Brown. 



1 



PART II. 

' ' Good e' ening, Mrs. Green ; how do you do ? 
I 've tho't o' coming for this day or two ; 
It seems like an age since I was here ; 
I ' ve no neighbor with you I'd compare. 



64 PRAIRIE FLOWERS, 

' ' An' Susie ' s going to marry Dick ! 
How is Susie ? — I heard she ' s sick. 
I think Dick 's such a nice young man ! 
I guess you '11 help 'em all you can? 

' ' I think you ' re such a sensible mother ; 

Susie looks just like her father ! 

How neat she goes — such a good housekeeper! 
• They say beauty's 'skin deep' — hers is deeper. 

' ' Where ' s Johnny to-day ? Gone up street ! 
Well, he ' s a boy that ' s hard to beat ? 
He won't compare with old Brown's Jim — 
Jim ' s so far, far down, beneath him. 

' ' Why, if I ' d such a son, I ' d go crazy ; 
He 's good for nothing, sneaking, lazy ; 
I've watched him so much, I often feel 
That he 's not a bit too good to steal ! 

''And their Sal! Oh, my, what a slouch! 
Her dress as dirty ' s a tobacco pouch ; 
But I don't blame her — tho' I deplore 'er — 
Her mother was that way long before her. 

V 

"I had some bus' n ess to-day over there, 
An' even before I ' d taken a chair. 
They began to talk about you, an' go on 
From this thing to that, until I was gone. 

"If there is anything I do hate, 
' T is to hear one' s everlasting prate 
About their neighbors ; say, do n' t you ? 
And it ' s something I will not do. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 65 

' ' When are you coming over, Mrs. Green ? 
You ought to come of ner — I think it 's right mean. 
I 've my new machine, but I must confess 
I've nothing to do — I'll help on Sue's dress. 

"I almost forgot — have you any yeast? 
Of all my neighbors, you make the best. 
I want to get some — a cupful ' 11 do ; 
Now I must go — good morning to you." 

PART III. 

Solomon Smith, I do declare 
I ' d rather live most anywhere, 
Than for to live here in this place — 
It seems to me a real disgrace ! 

The Greens on one side. Browns on t' other, 
And always an everlasting bother ! 
Such neighbors as they are, I do hate ; 
I wish we were clean out o' the State ! 

I went this morning to see Mrs. Brown, 
(I'd rather go anywhere else in town. 
An' go there I would n't — you 'd not catch me 
Going there, if I could help it — you ' d see ! ) 

I was there a few minutes, perhaps fifteen : 

The whole time 't was nothing but Green, Green, Green ! 

And when she found my machine had come. 

She talked like she ' d make my house her home. 

She do that ! why, it ' s nonsense complete ! 
I ' d throw my machine right out in the street, 
Before I 'd have such a woman about ! 
Such folks do worry mj life nearly out. 



66 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

And then there ' s Greens, the low-down trash ! 
(Smith, I do n't want to say anything rash,) 
This e' ening I went there to get some yeast, 
(I'd no wish to go there, none in the least ! ) 

Dick Drew ' s going to marry their Sue ; 

The Lord pity them, for what they ' 11 do 

Is more 'n I can tell — but I was going 

T' say, they want t' come here to do her sewing ! 

I wish we ' d never bought that machine : 
Brown on one side, on the other Green ; 
Each thinks I bought it for their ' special use — 
Just to think o' it even, gives me the blues ! 

There is one thing, Smith, I want to know : 
Ho-Q^ long you expect things to go on so? 
For if you think always, upon my life. 
It won't be long till you '11 have no wife. 



Perhaps, t' the reader, 't would be of interest. 
To know that long since, Smith had undressed ; 
An' while Mrs. Smith her neighbors was scoring. 
For th' last half-hour Smith had been snoring. 



BLUING. 



Th' wind doth whistle through the keyhole, 
And the sky ' s a gloomy gray ; 

Everything appears to cross me, 

Evil feelings seem to toss me. 

Things go wrong the live-long day. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 67 

Heavy-hearted, why should I be ? 

Tho' the weather make me glum, 
Why should I be filled with sadness? 
Why not full of joy and gladness — 

Take the world as it may come? 

There are many days in winter. 

Whereon the sun refuse to shine ; 
But because of clouds above us, 
God does not refuse to love us : 

We are still his care divine. 

Hope bears up. The sun to-morrow 

May in all his splendor rise ; 
Showing earth in all its beauty. 
Showing me my simple duty — 

T' do and love, not criticise. 

Every day that cometh to us 

Hath its sorrow and its joy ; 
They are golden jewels lent us ; 
Let detraction not prevent us, 

Nor our faith in Qod destroy. 



THE FIRST FROST. 



The frost has come, and autumn reigns 

The crowning time 's October ; 
The wailing wind and dropping leaves 

Beget a feeling sober. 
When ice is found within the tubs 

Left out behind the kitchen. 
The green tomato drops its head — 

Ditto the climbing liclien. 



68 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 

The pumpkins now to market come, 

And fowls, both dead and living ; 
The husking bees begin to hum. 

And people talk Thanksgiving. 
The bearded turkeys roost up high — 

If any tree there groweth — 
The time will come when thej must die, 

And go as turkey goeth. 

The sweet potato shrinks away. 

For fear of Jack Frost' s fingers ; 
The tinge of winter ' s in the air. 

Reminding him who lingers. 
The busy housewife hunts the hose, 

And undergarments woolen ; 
The skunks forego their night' s repose, 

'Round poultry houses foolin'. 

The ripe, red apple droppeth down. 

The russet and the golden ; 
■ The printer maketh his demand. 

The same as times "ye olden." 
The hunter hunts the hidden quail. 

The pheasant and the chicken ; 
The law with him doth not prevail. 

Unless his steps to quicken. 

And everything, as I have said. 

Makes one feel mighty sober ; 
And doubly so in Kansas, when 

First frost comes in October. 
The withered grass, and leaves all sear. 

Bid farewell to the summer, 
And we must dress and glad appear. 

To welcome the new comer. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 69 

Come on, je frosts and icy hosts, 

Unfold your cooling banners ; 
We '11 show you how we welcome you. 

And show you no ill manners. 
Come, pinch our nose, and bite our toes. 

Just come and be one of us ; 
We '11 make you feel at hom^ just so 

You cannot help but love us. 



ADVICE FREE: TAKE ONE. 



I NEVER like to hear folks say 

That times ain't like they were one day ; 

An' settin' round in sad suspense, 
A-blamin' all on Providence. 

This \yorld will turn on just the same 
As it was turnin' when you came ; 

'T will never know it when you leave, 
An' mighty few will stop to grieve. 

Most men do n' t like to know how small 
They really are on this dirt ball ; 

Their first gf-eat day is when they see 
How insignificant they be. 

Go stick your finger in the creek. 
An' try to find the hole next week ; 

You ' 11 get an idee of a fact. 
An' learn to better think an' act. 



70 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

You '11 never make a worse mistake, 
Than when you think the earth will shake 

Each time you tramp around on it, 
Like a fly upon a bonnet ; 

The face beneath it may be fair. 
An' never know the insect ' s there. 

So do n' t you try to win a crown, 
By tryin' to turn things upside-down. 

Many a man has lost his grip, 
By lettin' his occasion slip ; 

Lookin' for great things, let the small 
Go by him, so got nothin' at all. 

Don' fool yourself ; take what you can. 
As others do, and be a man ; 

Do n't blame no one for what you do. 
But pull right on, an' you ' 11 get through. 



SOME HORNED CATTLE. 



If I see a ma^ strutting along the street. 
And glancing with scorn at the ones he may meet ; 
With a mien that is haughty, a high silk hat. 
And clothes that are faultless — I do not fault that — 
An ancient adage will quickly come ; 
My father would say. 
In his homely way, 
' ' Cows wear long horns a good way from home. ' ' 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 71 

If I hear a man telling a doubtful tale 
Of something that happened to him on the trail, 
While he was a hunter, I b'lieve what I please, 
Tho' he tell it so earnest, with ap' rent ease ; 
The old-time adage will quickly come : 
My father would say, 
In his homely way, 
' ' Cows wear long horns a good way from home. ' ' 

When I hear a man telling how much he 's worth — 
You ' d think to b' lieve him, that he owned the whole earth ; 
He has houses and lands, and cattle and sheep ; 
Do n' t b' lieve all he tells you ; such stories will keep. 
Father's old proverb will quickly come. 
And as he would say. 
In his homely way, 
''Cows wear long horns a good way from home. 

When I hear a fop boast o' er hearts he has broke. 
O'er vict'ries he won at one masterful stroke; 
O' er fortunes he made, and o' er fortunes he lost ; 
I lay this to one side, nor look at the cost ; 
Do what I will, the adage will come : 
As father would say. 
In his homely way, 
"Cows wear long horns a good way from home. 

When I hear a man boast what he gives the church, 
(He leaves out the friend that he left in the lurch,) 
He tells the amount to the heathen he sent, 
(He may have come by it by charging high rent,) 
I set him down there in one small sum. 
Like father would say, 
In his homely way, 
"Cows wear long horns a good way from home.' 



?? 



?5 



72 PRAIRIE S^LOWERS. 

The habit ' s grown on me, and where, how, or when, 

I oft apply it to the study of men ; 

Tho' sometimes mistaken, 't is not a bad plan 

To carry a measure to measure each man. 

You ' 11 find this true wherever you roam : 
As father would say, 
In his homely way, 
"Cows wear long horns a good way from home." 



WHEN COYOTES FLEE. 



When coyotes flee, and wild-cats hide, 
And wind blows cold by th' river-side ; 

When stars look down on th' world below, 

On frost almost as white as snow ; 
And th' comet points the milky-way, 

I love to rise betimes and read — 
Ponder and read, till comes the day — 

This hour to me is sweet, indeed ! 

When cows and sheep begin to shake, 
And look for daylight soon to break ; 

When th' rumbling wheel at th' mill is heard 

Go round and round, no whit deterred 
By roaming beast nor night-wind cold ; 

The miller attends his measure 
In mill alone — I read of bold. 

Bold knight,^ and his lady's pleasure. 

♦Tennyson's King Arthur. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 73 

EVENING. 



The sun sinketh low, 
The evening winds blow, 
The sweet waters flow ; 
The night-hawk doth scour 
O ' er the plain, where the flower 
Blooms sweet by the hour ; 
The dark clouds gather. 
Denoting bad weather 
Ere long. On heather 
The dew is fast falling, 
The cows are all bawling. 
While th' milkmaid is calling 
Them home. Night is coming. 
The insects are humming — 
In my ears they 're drumming 
E'en now. Homeward going, 
The breeze is still blowing. 
The waters still flowing ; 

The night-hawk goes swooping 
O ' er flowers not drooping. 
As t' pluck them I ' m stooping ; 
The clouds rising higher ; 
Like a ball of red fire 
Sinks the sun in his ire. 
Fast receding the light, 
And the mantle of night 
Throws a shade o'er the sight 
Of day — as though 't were a pall 
That was spread over all • 
The wide earth like a caul. 

—6 



74 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

WORK vs. HOPE. 



"Work on, work ou, 

Work wears the world away ; 
Hope when to-morrow comes, 
But work to-day. 

"Work on, work on, 

Work brings its own relief ; 
He who most idle is 
Hath most of grief." 

— Ironquill. 

WoKK on, hope on, 

To-day as well ' s to-morrow ; 
Work without hope 

Bringeth naught but sorrow. 

Work on, hope on, 

Life is no sinecure ; 
Who works hopeless 

Hath the most to endure. ' 



THE OLD MILL-PON'. 



The warrior sings about his fights, 

The statesman of his speeches ; 
The women prate about their rights. 

The minister, he preaches ! 
Each one, they put their toggin' on. 

With its peculiar trimmin' : 
So I will sing ' ' the old mill-pon' , ' ' 

I used to go in swimmin' ! 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 75 

I oft hear people talk of joys, -' 

Of happiness supernal ; 
Compared with which, I think we boys 

Could fairly overturn all. 
For what cared we, if we could be 

Upon its shores by wishin' ; 
A-rollin' in its sand, you see — 

A swimmin' go, or fishin'? 

There was one spot, more favored far 

Than any on its borders. 
We lads could meet, sans peace or war, 

To wait for strippin' "orders. 
Just hear the plug ! the plash ! ker-chug ! 

The random fits of chaffin' : 
See water spurting from yon "mug," 

What hollerin' and laughin' ! 

A motley crowd, as you could get 

In all th^t land together : 
They seemed to like it, dry or wet, 

Or any kind o' weather. 
They ' d seize upon some old batteau. 

There moored among the bushes : 
One catches up the oars, jus' so, 

Another swims an' pushes : 

And such another time they have ! 

All from it jumpin', divin' ; 
Except, perhaps, some quiet knave, 

Who mischief is connivin' : 
Perchance, some fellow' s- clothes to steal, 

Or else to throw some dirt on : 
He ' s just as slip' ry as an eel, 

Before he gets his shirt on. 



76 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

There was a stately growth of pines, 

That grew about the Ian din' ; 
The ground was thickly strewn with spines — 

A carpet prone or standin' . 
And many a Sunday I have stole, 

Instead of goin' to meetin' , 
Out there to that old bathin' - hole, 

An' done without my eatin'. 

The L — d forgi' me for the sin — 

If sin you want to call it — 
I hardly think it ' s counted in : 

' T aint fair to overhaul it. 
If no account was kept up there, 

Most surely I ' m* not kickin' ; 
To be o'erpunished is not fair — 

Already got one lickin' ! 

Close by this place, there ^tood a dam, 

By it a grist- and saw-mill; 
Of beauty naked as a clam. 

An' humped up like a camel. 
A waste-gate stood between the two, 

Which was forever leakin' ; 
And when both mills were goin' , whew ! 

What rumblin' , roarin, creakin' ! 

I tell -you this, so you may know 

The beginnin' and end on 't : 
■ Tho' this was twenty years ago, 

It's true, you may depend on't. 
But now those mills have rotted, gone ; 

The waste-gate ' s in the dark hole : 
They've long since cut the pine-trees down, 

And burned them into charcoal. 



PRAIRIE FLOWER 8. 77 

That swimmin' - spot ' s no longer seen, 

The water's ta'en the channel; 
And corn-fields now are growing green, 

Where once we shed our flannel. 
And all those lads! oh! where are they. 

Who went on those excursions ? — 
In fishing, swimming, or in play. 

Had part in those diversions ? 

I 've just a mind to call the roll, 

An' see how many 's livin'. 
That used to meet around that hole 

We used to swim and dive in. 
There 's Jo, the short, an' Pete, the tall; 

An' Bert, an' Bill — the sinner; 
(With him, I mostly, if at all. 

Went home an' got my dinner.) 

And then I had a brother, G., 

Who went, without my wishin' ; 
Then there was Ab., and Peter C. — 

No better boys for fishin'. 
And several others I 've forgot, 

Tho' knew them well on one day, 
That used to gather on that spot 

On Saturday or Sunday. 

They 've scattered far — and some, maybe — 

Have passed beyond earth' s limit ; 
Some linger still, new sights to see, 

Tho' age somewhat may dim it. 
But for all this, I find a joy, 

Exceedingly amazin' 
In that old mill-pon', while a boy, 

I spent so many days in. 



78 PRAIBIE FLOWERS. 

And while I sing its memories, 

The fact is not surprisin', 
That old-time scenes before my eyes 

Are constantly uprisin'. 
Tho' some may scoff, and say my time 

Is worse than wasted, rhymin' ; 
To praise a mill-pond, is no crime, 

Nor going in a-swimmin' . 

[Note.— The above sketch is true in the main. The place referred to is located 
in Sussex county, Delaware, and known as "Rest's Old Mill." The characters are 
real, and all of them are living, so far as I know. — J. w. b.] 



I ONCE DID KNOW A LASS. 



I ONCE did know a lass, 
When I was in my teens ; 

For beauty and for grace, 
Oh, she was queen of queens ! 

I once did court a lass, 
I loved her like a slave ; 

But when her hand I asked. 
My hand she would not have ! 

I once did vow, a lass 
No more I ' d ever love ; 

But time has brought to pass 
That vows do falsely prove! 

I now think on a lass, 
But not that one of yore ; 

That boy-love all did pass — 
'T is gone to come no more ! 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 79 

I wedded a kind lass 
Who pity took on me ; 

And now 't is come to pass 
I ' ve a big f am-i-1 j ! 



SPRING. 



Spring, gentle Spring ! what a misnomer ! 
We haste to greet the tardy comer ; 
And slyly mark she is a " hummer, ' ' 

Since she is here ; 
And note she 's just prior to summer, 

The fussy dear ! 

In spring, there 's mud and slush and '' sich" ; 

And water flows in every ditch : 

God helps the poor as well ' s the rich, 

Who help themselves ; 
But has no favors for them, which 

Take to the shelves. 

In spring, no ice of winter 's seen ; 
The grass puts on her velvet green. 
And trees burst out in leafy sheen, 

To greet the eye ; 
And all the earth looks neat and clean 

To passers-by. 

In spring, the brooklets faster run ; 
The river meets them, half in fun. 
To think their task, so well begun. 

May end so soon ; 
Together mix, and sing the sun 

A merry croon. 



80 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

'Tis Spring, who brings with her the flowers, 
The gusty winds, and dashing showers ; 
An' whiles, the westling storm-cloud lowers, 

Wi' threatening mien, 
'Tis then the boldest-hearted cowers 

At such a scene. 

In spring, the farmer plows his field, 

And plants, if haply it may yield 

A bounteous crop, his home to shield 

From woe and want ; 
He knows the breast of avarice ' s steeled, 

And mercy ' s scant. 

In spring, the crows, in glossy black, 
Are cawing forth from tree to stack, 
And waiting, when the farmer's back 

Is turned, to steal ; 
Alas for them ! the shot-gun's crack 

Makes them to reel. 

In spring, the birds build nests again. 

To shield their young from want and pain ; 

They bide the bitter, pelting rain. 

And storms that come. 
To raise young birdlets, maybe slain 

To deck a home ! 

In spring, the poor much happier look ; 
The minnows happier swim the brook ; 
The shepherd happier swings his crook 

Among the sheep ; 
And flowers bloom in every nook. 

And grassy steep. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 81 

Spring, thou art a fickle dame ! 

No two days, scarce, art thou the same ; 
Yet poets pet and praise thy name. 

And always will ; 
That race are much like thee, I claim. 

More changing still ! 

But, Spring, thou art a friend of mine ; 
Tho' thou art decked in flowers fine, 

1 like to have companions shine, 

And so propone 

To here invite you out to dine 

With me alone ! 

So, Spring, you come, and you and me 
Will have a time ; and you shall see 
You have a friend who '11 stick to thee 

Thro' thin and thick : 
Spring and her poet on a spree — 

Or I ' m a brick ! 



PATTY CANNON'S MONUMENT. 



They 've razed an ancient monument. 

They ' ve torn it all away ; 
•Georgetown's own relic, pointing back 

To Patty Cannon's day. 

They 've razed this ancient monument, 

/Unique in Delaware, 
Tradition placed o'er Patty's bones 
They say are lying there. 



82 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 

This ancient landmark long hath stood ; 

'Twas Georgetown's boast and pride 
Her jail once held this wicked dame — 

' T was here that Patt j died. 

"Who was this Pattj Cannon, pray?" 
Methinks I hear one ask. 
To tell of all her wickedness 
Would be an awful task. 

Suffice to say, that Patty dealt 
In human flesh and blood ; 

And many crimes were laid to her 
That ne'er '11 be understood. 

She lived in times when human life 
Was counted merchandise ; 

If Afric blood but tinged the vein — 
Enough in Patty' s eyes ! 

This Patty kidnapped many blacks 
And shipped them, bound, away 

To slave and die in southern fields — 
In Patty Cannon's day. 

She lived — and died in wickedness 
In Georgetown jail, alone ; 

And then they built a monument, 
And now they 've torn it down ! 

Her grave unknown, her memory lives - 

She hath undying fame ; 
For men still shudder when they think 

Of Patty Cannon's name. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS, 



83 



Her grave unknown : in after-times, 

A theme for future lays, 
The unborn poet yet may sing 

Of Patty Cannon's days. 



[ Note.— Patty Cannon was a famous kidnapper, who lived in the earlier part of 
this century. "Gath" (George Alfred Townsend) has written a book, The Entailed 
Hat, in which she is the central figure. The mention of her name, fifty years ago, to a 
Delaware child, would cause a shudder.] 



RESTLESSNESS. 



Alone sitting, 
With thoughts flitting, 
And none fitting 
My mind. 

Former striving. 
With naught thriving, 
Present living — 
Poverty. 

Unfortunate ! 
Importunate ! 
World obstinate ; 
I endure. 

Life is wearing. 
Love endearing, 
Labor clearing 

Duty's path. 



But, time curing, 
Not alluring. 
Age immuring — 

Bearing pain. 

Folly raideth, 
Pleasure fadeth, 
Mem'ry aideth 

My shame. 

Yet, truth growing. 
The past knowing. 
Future showing — 
Parallel. 

Tho' oft grieving, 
Aid receiving, 
Well believing 

Gives strength. 



And no pleasure 
Affords leisure ; 
A great treasure 
Is work. 



84 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

' WINTER. 



Old Winter, thou art here ! December 
Introduces thee, and I am told 
Thou wearest a long beard, and art old 
And gray, if rightly I remember. 
They say thy locks are full of ice. 
And blue and peaked is thy nose ; 
And on thy cheeks are pearls froze. 
That ' scaped down from thine eyes. 
Wrapped in a cloak, close to thy chin, 
Thou comest prepar' d for sleet and snow ; 
And fearest not tho' Boreas blow — 
Forcing himself unwelcomed within 
Poor-warmed dwellings of poverty : 
But didst thou cause their misery? 



TO IRONQUILL. 



Ho ! Ironquill ! friend Ironquill, 

Why do n' t you start your rhyming mill ? 

How can you keep the old thing still, 

I ' d like to know ? ^ 
And, if the water ran up hill, 

I ' d make her go. 

I have not seen a strain of rhyme 
Fresh from your pen for this long time ; 
I '11 wage a nickel 'gainst a dime. 

You ' re thinkin' strong ; 
And ere we think, you '11 make us climb, 

To hear your song. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 85 

As Burns once said, we 're stringin' verse : 
That 's bad enough, but might be worse ; 
Though 't puts no penny in our purse, 

We scribble on ; 
We '11 ne'er abuse so kind a nurse — 

And be alone. 

You ' re, maybe, overhead in law, 

(For other folks,) a dull old saw 

You 're used to drawing — yea, you draw 

^Quite well, I s'pose; 
(But flattery is not worth a straw. 

As one well knows.) 

I like your ' ' Washerwoman' s Song ' ' ; 
•Kriterion's" measures glide along 
With cadence sweet — with thought so strong. 

It shows the will ; 
I think, my friend, you do us wrongs 

Py keeping still. 

I trust you will Pegasus stride. 

And, cut the rope wherewith he 's tied. 

Give the old nag a lick, and ride 

To win new bays. 
Away up steep Parnassus' side 

These latter days ! 

The wildest flowers oft may bring 
The sweetest scent at christening ; 
The shooting star sometimes may fling 

A radiant light ; 
The bird, untaught, may often wing 

The grandest flight ! 



86 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Friend Ironquill, ring out jour lay, 
And help us sing of later day ; 
Tune up your harp and give it sway, 

And strike it soon ; 
Give us your merriest roundelay — 

A Kansas rune ! 



A JAIL-BIRD'S STORY. 



»Mr. Jailee, if you ' 11 listen, I ' d like for you to know 
I was not always this way, sir — I could bring proofs to show ; 
I never used to smoke nor drink, nor play a game o' cards — 
]S^ot one of these, while mother lived — I learned them aft- 
erwards. 

I had a mother — she was good, and proud of me, her son ; 
I loved her better 'n all the world 'n' everything else in one. 
My father, he was cold to us, a close and silent man ; . 
He did not seem to comprehend the children-loving plan. 

I really was afraid of him ; he did not seem to know 
That children need caressing some, to make them loving 

grow. 
His bus'ness may have pressed him, true, but that should 

ne'er prevent 
The father loving his own child, that Heaven to him has sent. 

But, bye and bye, my mother died — it seemed my light 

went out ; 
The saddest blow of all my life, it ' s proved to me, no doubt. 
My life was all wrapped up in her, when she was laid away ; 
Tho' I ' d my father left to me, I did not care to stay. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 87 

But when the frenzy of my grief had burned its fuel out, 

I had n' t a single aim in life to set myself about. 

I walked the streets from day to day, I cared not where or 

when ; 
And night was same as day to me — I had no choice of men. 

My father may have loved me, yes, but could not sympathize 
With my torn heart ; he did not know the hunger in my eyes. 
I tried to get away from grief ; it followed me alway. 
Haunting my sleepless couch at night, and walked with me 
by day. 

I was not poor, as money goes — I did not lack for means ; 
I thought to leave my place of grief, and look on other 

scenes. 
My father did not seem to care if I should go or stay ; 
He let me go and come at will, in good or evil way. 

1 fear that is the way, too oft, that many fathers do : 
The home should be the happiest spot the children can 

come to. 
I do not think they should be left like cattle in a wood ; 
They 're more than like to browse the bad, and never touch 

the good. 

I left the town — I wandered far, to a city o' the west. 
Where life is lived in all its forms — the worst as well as 
best ; 

Where all is bustle and hurrah ; where men and women 

live. 
Professing all in life that 's good, and wickedness can give. 



88 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Where vice and virtue, side by side, by circumstances 

brought, 
Are often seen ; I do not b'lieve that virtue's better taught. 
I do not b'lieve great cities are the better place to go 
To get a start ; young folks will learn much they should 

never know. 

I know that to my sorrow. I soon found the ways of sin ; 
The doors were open, temptingly, to lure a fellow in. 
'T is not so hard to go down hill, as it is to go up, 
If one shuns no temptation, still helped by the damning 
cup. 

The gilded palaces of hell put on aspects to please ; 

And much goes for appearances, for sin would have her 

ease. 
How much, we know not, till we've plucked the Dead-Sea 

fruit of gall ; 
Then its full bitterness is felt, and we have risked our all. 



I drifted on, and on, and on ; and down, and down, and 

down ; 
I sought the hardest forms of sin, the lowest dens in town. 
I chose companions for no good that they might do to me ; 
I did not care for morals, nor for right or equity. 

I had no use for Church nor State, except to hate their laws ; 
My finer qualities grew coarse, I swore without a cause. 
My conscience seared, I deeper drank, and smoked till rea- 
son reeled. 
'Tween alcohol and nicotine, it seemed my doom was sealed. 



PBAIBIE FLO WEBS. 89 

It was not l<?ng before I found an ancient saying true : 
' 'A fool and cash soon separate " ; ' t ain' t very hard to do. 
That I must live, stood me in hand, honest or otherwise ; 
So I began a doubtful chase to hustle life's supplies. 

What others earned, I spent with ease, no matter how it came ; 
I knew too well the haunts of sin, the moral blind and lame. 
I knew the officers of law, I played at cards and dice ; 
I learned to cheat, I learned to lie — grew perfect in all vice. 

And I could pick a pocket, too, and do it neat and clean; 
Truth grew a stranger on my lips, my once fair soul grew 

mean. 
It seemed my former life had fled, a demon led me on ; 
Headlong I plunged life's mad career, till every hope was 

gone. 

Gray prison-walls I grew to know as my familiar friends ; 
But prison-life has after all, to me made some amends. 
It keeps me sober, makes me think — tho' prison walls are 

damp. 
My old life will come back to me — I cease to be a tramp. 

And for a time, I am a man again in life and name ; 
For you must know I never put my mother' s name to shame. 
I dragged her name not down with me — I changed that 

long ago ; 
Alas ! for me, my memory is not so pleasant, though. 

But why should I take up your time? And what am I to 

you? 
I 've broke the law, I 'm punished just — that fact I know 

is true. 
But, jailer, you have done me good by hearing me so well ; 
'T is sympathy that lifts us up, its lack drags us to hell. 

-7 



90 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

MIND: A FRAGMENT. 



O Mind of man ! 

The wondrous plan 
Of an Allwise Power ! 

Created for 

So short a span, 
I'll not believe an hour. 

Its treasures vast 
Shall life outlast ; 
Its work shall aye endure : 
Like pyramids 
Of ages past, 
They'll prove more lasting, truer. 



THE WINTER IS COLD. 



The winter is cold, 
And snow is flying ; 
It has come from far, _ 
Is now low lying — 
Lying and flying. 

The wind bloweth chill. 
And the night is dark ; 
No star gleams above. 
The trees are all stark — 
All stark, and so dark. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 91 

The old year is past, 
The new one is going ; 
On Time's broad stream 
We all are flowing — 
Flowing and going. 

The autumn has fled, 
Winter is fleeing ; 
And soon spring will come 
To gladden our being — 
Being and fleeing. 

Go hence, sad spirit ! 
Come, spirit of cheering ; 
Drive off winter's gloom, 
With its sad appearing — 

Appearing and cheering. 



LIFE: A VISION. 



I AM gazing down the vista 

Of th' years that came and went, 
I am thinking of the failures 

With which those years are pent : 
I remember one-and-twenty, 

I promised life so much. 
Yet I find at six-and-thirty, 

It 's scarce received a touch. 



92 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

When I first looked down the valley 

That spread so grand before, 
It required a stretch of fancy 

As I viewed the landscape o'er, 
To behold the vine-clad wayside, 

The flowers blooming sweet ; 
To hear the water's music, as 

It flowed the sea to meet. 

My vision sought the meadow green. 

Or rested on the hills ; 
I sat me by the pathway there. 

Charmed by the mock-bird's trills. 
Love sought her own within the maze 

That thronged along the way ; 
And life appeared so fair to me, 

And pleasure had full sway. 

I did not see the darksome ways 

That lead to want- and woe ; 
I did not see the briny tears 

That did from sorrow flow. 
, I did not hear the sigh, nor see 

The face all stricken, pale. 
That strove to aid me, and to lift 

The corner of life's veil. 

But onward passed, or stopped to play 

Mid deadfall, pit, and snare ; 
I knew not then their whereabouts, 

Now find them everywhere. 
The road of life ' s a giddy route, ■ 

That leads a winding way 
O'er grassy vale, hill, rock, and swale - 

In none can we delay. 



PBAIRIE FL0WEB8. 93 

We travel as by fast express — 

We ' re stopping e' er to start ; 
We ' re meeting e' er to part again, 

If parting break the heart. 
We ' re happy oft, to shedding tears, 

In weeping oft we smile ; 
The dearest thing, we can retain 

But just a little while. 

We hasten on, and feed upon 

. Some new-born hope each hour ; 

We're not unlike the butterfly 

That flits from flower to flower. 
We're naught but grown-up children, bent 

On pleasure just ahead ; 
Some ignis fatuus^ leading on ^ 

Where they have always led. 

Tho' we succeed, we always fail 

To reach the height we seek ; 
Tho' we be strong, we often feel 

Our strength is all too weak. 
Tho' we be wise, we come to learn 

How infinitely small 
Our wisdom is ; compared to His, 

We ' re flies upon the wall. 

And yet we feel — in fact we know 

A spark in us is placed. 
That beams, and will forever beam. 

When nature ' s all erased. 
This life is greater than we think. 

And we should prize it much ; 
We cannot tell what shadows flee 

In contact with its touch. 



94 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

WAITING. 



We stand upon the shores of Time, 

And view the mist 
Between us and the unknown clime, 

By tempest kissed ; 
We strive to know our coming fate. 
And oft we wonkier, as we wait. 

Will we be missed? 

We backward look at efforts vain. 

Made long ago ; 
And even as the latter rain 

Doth turn to snow, 
Our limbs do shiver and grow cold. 
The harvest past, and we are old. 

And nothing know. 

We would have sung a song of cheer 

To help the sad ; 
We now would check the rising tear — 

We would be glad 
To show to those we leave behind 
Our thoughts for them were always kind, 

Tho' earthly clad. 

We would not let one shadow lie 

Across the way, 
Nor be the means to dark the sky 

And mar the day ; 
We would not spoil the good of one 
Poor child that walks beneath the sun. 

While here we stay. 



PRAIBIE FLOWERS. 95 

With patient longing, here we stand 

Upon the shore ; 
The mist is drawing nigh the land — 

We hear the roar 
Of rushing waters on the sea, 
So wide, so deep, Eternity, 

Which round us pour. 

The very sand beneath ou'r feet. 

We feel it move ; 
Within the mist we hear the sweet 

Command of love, 
"Fear not, dear heart" — but, peace, be still. 
The sails e'en now with breezes fill, 

Borne from above. 



WHO IS MY BROTHER? 



Who is my brother ? Can you tell ? 

Just answer me this question ; 
But, aye, it's old ; ponder it well — 

I make that a suggestion. 
For e'en since time began to be. 

And one deal with another, 
This query e'er presents itself. 

Inquiring, ' ' Who ' s my brother ? ' '" 

When Adam dwelt in Paradise 
With Eve, our winsome another. 

There man did first begin to find 
He even had a brother. 



96 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

And later on, when steeped in crime — 

There is no crime that ' s deeper — 
The murderer cried out in vain, 
' ' Am I my brother' s keeper ? ' ' 

Who is my brother? All along 

Down Time's reverberation, 
The question 's come, and man has tried 

To show the true relation. 
And while he 's sought to prove the tie 

That bound as did no other, 
He very often proved himself 

A most inhuman brother. 

Who is my brother? Let us see ! 

Must he be blood relation? 
Oh, nay, nay, nay ! this need not be ; 

We 're brothers by creation ! 
Who is my brother? Is it he 

Who loans, if one return it? 
Who gives, to only get again? 

The very thought, I spurn it ! 

Who is my brother? He who comes 

With praise and adulation 
When I ' m prosperous ; but lo ! I fall, 

Denieth his relation ? 
Is he my brother? Doth his heart 

Beat mercy for me rather. 
Who me disowns, but tries to claim 

My Father for his Father? 

Who is my brother? He who lifts 
The poor down-trodden human 

From out the depth, where he hath sunk, 
IS'igh lost to be a true man ? 



PRAIBIE FLOWERS. 97 

Who gives him clothes, who gives him food, 

And love and kind attention ; 
Who doeth this, without a thought 

Of worthy public mention? 

Is this my brother? He who takes, 

On every kind occasion. 
My hand and shakes, soothing the aches 

Made by the world's abrasion? 
Who cries with me, and smiles with me. 

With pleasing contemplation, 
That what he has, in part belongs 

To me, his poor relation? 

Who is my brother? I will leave 

To answer this — my Brother; 
Who taught humanity to own 

One universal Father. 
If man to man adopt His plan, 

Beside the which, no other 
Is so complete — we cannot fail 

To recognize our brother. 



NOVEMBER DREAMS. 



The cold November rain doth fall, 

The smoke is on the lea ; 
The dripping clouds hang like a pall. 

And overshadow me. 
I stand and through the window gaze 

O' er country, stream, and town ; 
The hills lie dimly in the haze. 

The pat' ring rain comes down. 



98 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

The naked trees spread out their limbs, 

Their foliage lowlj lies ; 
The autumn winds breathe out in hjmns^ 

Their funeral obsequies. 
The summer flowers bloomed and died. 

But live in mem'ry green : 
In coming years, at eventide, J 
. Will we review the scene. 

The landscape fair, its flowing stream, 

Comes back again to view ; 
The laughing eyes — and like a dream — 

The swing goes to and fro. 
Her voice is sweet, and singing birds 

Sit high upon the bough ; 
The old oak almost spoke in words — 

I hear it plainly now ! 

Oh ! how my heart went pit-a-pat, 

Each time she spoke to me ; 
I was too young to think but that 

We always would agree ! 
I was an awkward country chap. 

All freckle-faced and tan, 
Not looking for the thunder-clap 

That knocked away my plan. 

A nice-dressed lad from Boston came 

To spend the summer there ; 
To pluck the flowers, smell the same. 

And breathe the country air. 
He stole my sweetheart 'way from me — 

The swing soon lost its charm ; 
I never thought my heart could be 

So fllled with love's alarm. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 99 

But years have passed, and young hearts bend 

Much easier than they break ; 
The wounded spot, aye, soon did mend, 

And banished was the ache. 
My sweetheart grew to womanhood — 

She 's married many a year — 
And I have thought the same plan good. 

The way of life to cheer. 

Thus years have fled, and I at last 

In middle life do stand ; 
And growing up around me fast: 

No fairer in the land, 
Winters have passed, and springs have come, 

Summers have brought their flowers ; 
Autumns have called their harvests home, 

And gladdened weary hours. 

And here I stand and view the land — 

I stand here all alone ; 
I rest my head upon my hand 

To list the wind's wild moan. 
The rain comes pouring, wet and cold. 

And all looks sad and drear ; 
The grass is withered on the wold. 

And every tree is bare. 

But warm hearts wait to greet to-night 

The father' s safe return ; 
Then every care shall take its flight. 

And Home Love's altar burn. 
With incense sweet we '11 sprinkle it. 

Then Love shall fan the blaze : 
And may the flame, forever lit, 

Cheer all our autumn days ! 



100 PRAIBIE FLOWERS. 

OUR PET IS GONE. 



Our pet is gone ! She will no more 

Meet us at eventide, 
As we come from our daily task, 

To chatter by our side. 
Her golden curls no more will float 

Out in the wind so wild, 
While mother met us at the gate — 

The father and the child. 

Our pet is gone ! We loved her so — 

But God took her away ; 
She was too good to stay with us, 

She ' s gone with Him to stay. 
There is no sorrow where she dwells, 

No hearts up there are sad ; 
God wipes the tears from all their eyes, 

His presence makes them glad. 

Our pet is gone ! We miss her so ; 

The house is lone and still ; 
Her gentle voice and pleasing moods 

Our hearts did so enthrill : 
Oh, how we wept ! Our darling, dead. 

Lay on her couch so white ; 
It seemed that heaven around her shed 

A part of its own light. 

Our pet is gone ! Tho' she is not, 

Her influence lingers still ; 
Her image fixed is in the heart 

She once did rule at will ; 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 101 

Her once sweet voice and noisy feet 

Are heard on earth no more ; 
And yet we know that we shall see 

Our darling on yon shore. 

Our pet is gone ! We bow the head, 

Submissive to His will: 
God gave, and took — His He alone 

The aching void can fill. 
He chains us by a link divine, 

With Him in part we dwell ; 
We smile thro' tears, while we would say, 
"He doeth all things well." 



GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 



Good resolutions ! What are they 

But conscience-serving bridges. 
On which we walk from year to year, 

0' er life' s uneven ridges ? 
We see our faults, then we resolve 

From that time we will mend them ; 
Thus lull our conscience to repose. 

While we go out and rend them. 

About the first of each new year, 

We make new rules to live by ; 
New rules to get, new rules to spend. 

And bran-new rules to give by. 
We '11 make our homes a happier place 

Surprise our friends and neighbors. 
By coming out a different man, 

Of better plans and labors. 



102 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

The merchant, conning o'er his gains, 

Saith : ' ' From this time hereafter, 
I ' 11 see that everything goes straight, 

From cellar floor to rafter. 
I '11 in my sugar put no sand, 

And in my salt no water ; 
I '11 sell no more, to friend or foe, 

Oleomargarine for butter." 

The farmer says : " I ' 11 load my hay 

The same from top to bottom ; 
I '11 throw the rotten eggs away. 

And sell no more, d'od-rot ' em ! 
I will not sell my musty wheat, 

By putting good on top it ; 
Maybe someone '11 find it out — 

I guess, by jing ! I '11 stop it." 

The carpenter, along the rest. 

Thinks : " I ' 11 do my work better ; 
I ' ve covered up too many sins — 

' T is quite a serious matter. 
I '11 use more nails, make tighter joints. 

And use less paint and putty ; 
For I '11 admit I 've done some jobs 

That were a ' little smutty. ' ' ' 

The toper says : "I '11 stop this drink ; 

From this time I swear off ; 
I ' 11 straighten up and sign the pledge — 

Quit all bad habits square off. 
I ' 11 cut my old companions short — 

A thought but rather recent ; 
I '11 dress my wife and children up, 

Respectable and decent." 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 103 



So go the rounds, you ' 11 find each one, 

In each trade and profession, 
Has made new plans and new resolves — 

And thinks he ' s made progression. 
They try to cover failings up 

With bran-new resolutions. 
But do not seek t' redeem the past. 

By making restitutions. 

They love the Lord and all mankind. 

But love themselves the better ; 
The spirit of the law they keep, 

But break it in the letter. 
A wise old fellow one time made 

A rather strange assertion : 
* ' That Hell was paved with good intent ' ' — 

A possible perversion. 

Good resolutions ! They are good. 

But keeping them is better ; 
Not only in the spirit — we 

Must keep them in the letter. 
Man is but human, bound to fail. 

Come short of his ideal ; 
But know thou this, the world will know 

The base one from the real. 

So be a man, and tho' you err, * 

' ' To step aside is human ' ' ; 
To see the wrong, to make amends. 

Bespeaks the noble, true man. 
Be not ashamed of new resolves. 

But be ashamed to break them ; 
If that were all you made them for, 

'T were better not to make them. 



"N 



104 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 



TO THE PEERLESS PRINCESS. 



Wichita, thou Peerless Princess, 

I have seen thee in thj pride ; 
Seen thee dressed in gala colors, 

As became a waiting bride ; 
I have seen thy waving forests, 

And thy buildings tow' ring high ; 
Felt thy welcome in the breezes. 

Saw thy smile in ev' ry eye. 

I have viewed thy stately churches, 

Where thy people meet to pray ; 
I have seen thy wheels of commerce 

Driving all the busy day ; 
I have heard the great heart-throbbing 

Of the engines in thy breast — 
Wichita, thou Peerless Princess, 

Matchless city of the West ! 

There I sought thy fields of learning. 

Sought to see thy noblest men ; 
To climb the eyrie of the Eagle — 

Beard the bird right there and then ; 
But the height but made me dizzy. 

And the Eagle screamed so shrill. 
That I sought old terra firma. 

There to wander at my will. 

Wichita, thou queen so potent. 
Potent, aye, for ill or good. 

May thou wield thy mighty scepter 
Building up man's brotherhood. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 105 

May tby noble sons and daughters 

Rear thy standard up so high, 
Though their feet may touch thy borders, 

That their glory reach the sky. 

May thy highways ring with gladness. 

Filled thine air with happiest song ; 
May thy joyous youth and maidens 

Live within thy precincts long. 
Thou didst welcome us, a stranger — 

Welcomed us, an honored guest — 
Wichita, thou queen of Kansas, 

Peerless Princess of the West. 

[ Note.— Visited during the session of the Grand Lodge of the Knights of Pythas, 



WHAT'S THE USE? 



Say, what 's the use o' mopin' 

An' goin' round so blue? 
The world ' 11 keep a turnin' 

In spite of all you do. 
The man that ' s allers smilin' 

'S the man that wins his way 
Through thick and thin ; and trouble 

Do n't much around him stay. 

Say, what ' s the use o' growlin' 

'Cause crops do n't grow to suit? 
For it won't help the matter, 

Nor grow a single root. 
Think you the squealin' porker 

Gets any more o' swill 
Than he that puts his time in 

A drinkin' down his fill? 



106 PRAIBIE FLOWERS. 

Saj, what ' s the use o' makin' 

Your friends all ill at ease, 
By allers criticisin' 

Instead of trying to please? 
'T wont increase their love for jou, 

Nor swell your bank account ; 
' T wont help your private f eelin' s 

To any great amount. 

Say, what 's the use o' faultin' 

Your wife for everything? 
Why not go round a-whistlin' — 

It would n' t hurt to sing. 
Do your children love you more 

For settin' 'round so glum? 
I trow they do n' t ; you ' d better 

Be playin' with 'em some. 

Say, let me tell you somethin' — 

It won' t cost you a cent : 
Stay in a better humor, 

'T will help to pay the rent ; 
' T will keep your face from wrinklin' , 

Your hair from turnin' gray. 
An' make you live much longer — 

It cannot help but pay. 

Say, let me tell you further — 

I know what I 'm about — 
^ That everybody 's watchin' ; 

They're sure to find you out. 
They'll measure you for gold, or 

They'll measure you for dross, 
An' pass you for your value. 

While you must bear the loss. 



PUAIRIE FLOWERS, lOT 



DESPAIR NOT. 



JSTe'er despair, 

Baffle care ; 
Smile and be happy whenever you can. 

Shadow moulds 

Human souls ; 
Better to grow up in the sunshine, man. 



Grumblers wait 

At the gate 
Leading to happiness out in the world ; 

Awful things — 

Sore he sings — 
Darts by the Evil One constantly hurled. 



Mournfully, 

Tuneless, he 
Waits at the gate, and so mouldy he grows ; 

Throwing forth. 

South and north, 
Flashes of fever and shiver of snows. 



Better be 

Merrily 
Singing a roundelay up to the sun ; 

Like the bird, 

Early heard. 
His glad matins chanting to everyone. 



108 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

People know, 

As you go, 
Whether you ' re happy, or whether you ' re sad ; 

Let them see 

You can be 
Happy and joyous, in spite of the bad. 

Never despair. 

Drive off care, 
Cry him off lustily, smother the pain ; 

Life is worth 

Much on earth ; 
Earth is much greener just after the rain. 



AMONG THE PINES O' SUSSEX. 



Among the pines o' Sussex 

I was happy many a day ; 
When wandering through their mazes, 

I heard the wild winds play. 
The sunlight there came glinting 

Athwart the afternoon ; 
The song-birds there were flitting, 

And sang their mono-tune. 

Among the pines o' Sussex, 

Low on their carpet prone, 
I 've lain there often dreaming, 

Aye, dreaming all alone. 
I 've watched the cloudlets floating 

Like specks of silver light. 
Along the vault of Heaven, 

That looked so blue and bright. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 109 

Among the pines o' Sussex, 

Oh ! what a world to me, 
Before I knew another, 

There oft appeared to be. 
Each bush and tree there growing, 

A soul had of its own ; 
And every flow' ret blooming — 

A queen upon her throne. 

Among the pines o' Sussex 

I ' ve been in winter-time. 
When every limb was loaded 

With snow and frosty rime. 
There sought the rabbit hidden 

As safe as he could be ; 
Heard ' ' clap ' ' the frozen timber, 

And fall of rotten tree. 

Among the pines o' Sussex, 

I ' ve wandered in the spring. 
When grass commenced a-growing. 

And birds began to sing. 
Honeysuckles show their buds. 

And early flowers bloom ; 
Chestnuts hidden i' the leaves 

Burst from their winter tomb. 

Among the pines o' Sussex 

I ' ve walked a summer' s day. 
When low' ring clouds and thunder 

Came darkling o'er my way. 
And all the air was sultry, 

So still was all around ; 
Burst from the clouds the rain-drops. 

Deluged the needled ground. 



110 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Among the pines o' Sussex 

I 've been in darkest night ; 
The screech-owl by the roadside 

Made my hair rise in fright. 
The dogs in distance baying 

Imaginary foes, 
While I went on rejoicing — 

The moon had just arose ! 

Among the pines o' Sussex ! 

Long, long has been the day 
Since, wandering in her mazes, 

I in their shadow lay. 
But still I keep on dreaming. 

And dreaming o'er again, 
Among the pines o' Sussex, 

Or on the western plain ! 



HEALED. 

[mark 5:25 to 34.] 



The press was great, the throng was wild, 
And I, a woman, all defiled. 

How could I reach mj Saviour^ 
Reach Him I must, without delay ; 
And in the press, with fear, dismay, 
I, trembling, sought my Saviour. 

His words are full of comfort. 
They cheer my weary soul ; 
If I can touch His garment, 
His grace will make me whole. 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. Ill 

Who touched Me? hear the dear Lord say ! 
The throng was awed, the mass gave way, 

And I stood near my Saviour. 
Who touched Me ? came the gracious word ; 
New life-blood through my being stirred, 
For I had touched my Saviour. 

His words were full of comfort. 
They cheered my weary soul ; 
For I had touched His garment, 
His grace had made me whole. 

"Thou seest all these people, Lord, 
And yet thou seekest by Thy word 

To find who touched thee, Saviour? " 
'Twas thus that His disciples said. 
But I before Him bowed my head — ^ 

I knelt before my Saviour. 

His words, so full of comfort. 

Oh, how they cheered my soul ! 
By faith, I touched His garment — 
He made me clean and whole. 

Go thou in peace, oh, hear Him say ! 
From all thy plague, be healed this day. 

Oh, what a blessed Saviour ! 
To heal the body, save the soul, 
The vilest of the vile make whole. 
Oh, how I love my Saviour ! 

His word is full of comfort, 

Oh, how it cheers my soul ! 
By faith I touch His garment — 
He makes me clean and whole. 



112 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 



A VISION OF THE OLD FOLKS. 



I AM sitting here a-nodding in 

The firelight and the gloom, 
Whiles, glancing at the shadows, as 

They flit about the room. 
I ' m thinking, yes, I ' m thinking of 

The dear old long-ago ; 
I see the dear old faces, as 

The shadows come and go. 

I see my dear old mother — for 

I ' m back again a boy — 
As she sits there in the corner, 

With her evening^ s employ. 
Oh ! how those knitting-needles used 

To fly from left to right, 
While the light from the old fireplace 

Lit up the gloom of night. 

My father, he sits yonder with 

His pipe and easy-chair. 
While we children gather 'round him 

For the tales we shall hear. 
Oh ! how our eyes would glisten at 

The stories he would tell 
Of Jack, the Giant-Killer, and 

The Fairies in the Well. 

He 'd then get out his fiddle, and 
He ' d play while we would dance ; 

We children used to love it, and 
Were happy at the chance. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 113 

There was something in the music 

That soothed my youthful fears ; 
Transported me to dreamland, ere 

I reached my bed upstairs. 

My dear old mother 's nodding with 

The stocking in her lap, 
Till we children get too noisy. 

And wake her from her nap. 
She grabs her knitting quickly, and 

Denies the very fact 
Of sleeping, while we giggle, for 

We caught her in the act. 

I am thinking, I am dreaming — 

Awake, and yet asleep ; 
I see these things as plainly as 

I ' ve seen my mother weep. 
Tho' a child's life may be stormy, 

A beacon she did prove — 
My barque of fear I anchored in 

The harbor of her love. 

Tho' the father he may shield you, 

To mother you will cling. 
When the day of darkness gathers. 

And you feel th' awful sting 
Of the world's envenomed adder. 

' er all this way she ' s trod. 
Her love was born in Heaven, in 

The fatherhood of God. 

I 'm thinking, I am dreaming, but 

1 know my dream is true. 
For the hair of that dear mother 

With gray is sprinkled through ; 



114 PBAIRIE FLOWERS. 

My father'' s head is whitened with 

The snow of many years ; 
Their cheeks, I fear, are moistened with 

The flow of recent teai*s. 

Their children far are scattered, and 

They feel they are forgot , 
By the ones they loved so fondly, 

But I know they are not. 
Though my own ones prattle 'round me, 

And far from them I roam, 
I still have got a warm heart left 

For the Old Folks at Home. 



MAN WAS NOT MADE TO MOURN. 
[reply to burns.] 

One morning as I wandered forth 

Along the JSFinnescah, 
The sky was clear, ^he sun shone bright, 

The air was somewhat raw ; 
A man was walking just beyond — 

On him old age had wrought 
A wondrous work, but still he showed 

A brow of spacious thought. 

He stopped, and, turning, questioned me 

Of what I was in quest ; 
He was a sage, had wandered far. 

Had dwelt in east and west ; 
He knew the world, its joy and pain, 

Had heavy losses borne ; 
Yet, thro' it all, with truth could say, 

Man was not made to mourn. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 115 

''Yon luminary, hanging high 

Above the grassy plain, 
Gives light and heat to those who seek 

A livelihood to gain. 
Summer and winter, heat and cold, 

Each cometh in its turn. 
And brings abiding evidence, 

Man was not made to mourn. 

"Tho' man may waste his time for naught, 

And travel folly's road. 
May wander many a weary mile 

To find a sad abode ; 
Yet, for all this, I ' m free to say, 

This much he yet may learn : ^ 

He must look up, and not look down — 

He was not made to mourn. 

' ' In youthful days and manhood' s pride. 

Or middle life, may find 
There ' s many things to fraternize. 

And educate the mind. 
Tho' age may come, and eyes grow dim. 

White locks the head adorn, 
I know, nor hesitate to say, 

Man was not made to mourn. 

' ' We may see some who roll in wealth. 

And some in poverty : 
The poor possess a hoard of health 

To will posterity. 
I do not b'lieve the common plea, 

I treat, it, aye, with scorn ; 
The rich are glad, the poor are sad — 

Man was not made to mourn. 



116 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

' ' I grant that we must meet the spear 

Of hunger, lean and gaunt ; 
I grant that we must suffer pain, 

And meet with woe and want ; 
Since Adam sinned in paradise, 

We ' ve been to labor born : 
And yet the promise is to us, 

Man was not made to mourn. . 

' ' Man was condemned to earn his bread 

For aye, ' mid sweat and toil ; 
But honest labor's no disgrace, 

Nor makes one mean or vile. 
The horny-handed prince of work, 

The last to look forlorn. 
Must care for wife and tender babes — 

He was not made to mourn. 

"No slave is he — no man can bring 

Him cringing on his knee ; 
Tho' he may labor, yet he knows 

The air he breathes is free. 
He goeth forth, he lifts his head, 

And treats the tho't with scorn. 
That any man should him control — 

He was not made to mourn. 



ii, 



My son, attend to what I say ; 

' T is very plain to me 
That many things are not at all 

As they appear to be. 
Nor riches, neither poverty, 

The human heart adorn ; 
But grace, and living for the right 

Man was not made to mourn. 



PBAiniE FLOWEHS. 117 

''A coward he, who seeks a way 

To draw an easy breath ; 
Shift his responsibility, 

And hide himself in death. 
The high and low, the rich and poor. 

Are by it ' sunder torn ; 
Tho' it may end, I recommend 

He should not for it mourn." 



MY MERCIES. 



I ' M summin' up my mercies, wife. 

That 's come to me this year ; 
How much I have to thank Him for. 

How little cause to fear. 
Now first an' foremost in the start, 

My faith was rather lean ; 
I tried to stand in my own strength, 

An' then my heart wa' n't clean. 

I tried to put myself to rights 

By doin' of good works, 
Just like the old Crusaders did. 

Who went to fight the Turks. 
I tried to make myself believe 

That I was doin' right ; 
So every mornin' charged myself, 

An' credit give each night. 

I kep' my book, the Lord kep' His, 
Till a'ter a while, you see, 

The Lord, He showed me his account, 
'N' I found they didn't agree. 



118 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

I found the cred'ts I'd give myself, 

He ' d charged the same to me, 
Makin' me owe Him twice as much 
'S ever I thought 't would be. 

Where I'd cred'ted myself with alms, 

He 'd charged me up with pride ; 
I made sure of a church subscription. 

He put it t' other side. 
Like him who tried by his bootstraps 

To lift him o'er the fence. 
So I was goin' to heaven with 

Good w^orks for my defense. 

But the parson set me thinkin' ; 

He preached from where it saith, 
(The word was full of the spirit,) 
"By grace ye 're saved through faith." 
He said, "You must b'lieve wi' the doin' "; 

Though slow to grasp the word, 
I ' d made a mistake an' knew it. 

So brought my case t' the Lord. 

I've since been givin' an' doin' — 

The best year of my life ; 
I live at peace with my Maker, « 

He keeps me from all strife. 
My barns have increased with plenty, 

I ' ve lost no cattle nor sheep ; 
I ' m trustin' Him, the Good Shepherd, 

Who watches while we sleep. 

I ' ve had more to give the Lord, wife, 

Than e' er I had before ; 
But I first had to give myself — 

I wish it had been more. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 119 

He gave me my wife an' cliildren, 

My home, all I possess ; 
All He asks in return for it — 

A heart full o' thankfulness. 

Now, wife, the children are sleepin', 

An' all the stock is fed, 
Perhaps ' t will be doin' us justice, 

If we should go to bed. 
Altho' I'm not rich like some folks, 

I'm happy all the day ; 
The Lord is so rich in mercy — 

Dear wife, let ' s kneel an' pray. 



MORNING. 

Anothee morn approacheth fair : 
The eastern sky is spread 

With scarlet and with golden rare. 
High reaching overhead ; 

iNo painter's colors can compare 
With fair Aurora's red ! 

Now just above the horizon. 

The day-king drives his chariot on. 

The shadows of the night withdraw - 

Receding gently west ; 
Oh, how my soul goes forth in awe, 

At power so manifest 
In earth and sun, for heaven's law 

'S obeyed in each behest. 
The sun, the earth, the starry host ! 
Admiration in them is lost. 



1^0 PUAIRIE PLOWBHS. 

For lo ! behold, ere dawn appears 
With splendor in the east, 

Bright orbs of light, the distant spheres, 
Afford the ejes a feast ! 

They there abide th' eternal years, 
Diminished nor increased ; 

But whirling, whirl around the sun 

In perfect, happy unison ! 

When the lord of light comes forth 
With all his grand display ; 

Is gone the pole-star in the north, 
Nor seen the milky-way ; 

Their modest light shows little worth 
Beside light's majesty! 

The lesser lights are there the same, 

But greater light them overcame. 

The pale, full moon, serenely bright, 
Thro' space doth float along ; 

She ' s nobly named the Queen of Night, 
And of the starry throng, 

Which seem to twinkle with delight. 
So high in heaven hung. 

But pales her light, and fades away. 

When doth appear the King of Day ! 

And now 't is day ! the world 's alive — 
Awakened from her sleep ; 

And man with man to-day will strive, 
And golden harvests reap ; 

Like bees within their summer hive. 
Want from their door to keep. 

O, may the day-king not behold 

Man wrong his brother man for gold ! 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 121 

A HUNDRED YEARS TO-DAY. 

[Read at the ceutermial evening service at the M. E. church, Kingman, Kansas. 
April 30, 1889.] 

A HUNDRED years ago, Marj, 

A hundred years to-day ; 
It does not seem so long, Mary, 

A century away. 
To-day our noble Washington — 

A hundred years to-day — 
Swore to preserve the Union great 

Forever and alway. 

The glit'fing stars of thirteen States 

Shed forth their lustre then ; 
The flag of freedom floated o'er 

Our country' s bravest men ; 
The corner-stone of freedom, laid 

In mortar made of blood. 
Has, 'mid the storm and flight of years, 

A century withstood. 

No shock of war, nor plenty's ease, 

Has swerved her from the line ; 
The superstructure built thereon. 

Beauty and strength combine. 
And we have been to-day, Mary, 

To hear their wisdom told — 
The wisdom of our forefathers, 

Who labored not for gold. 

They wore old-fashioued clothing, then, 

With buckles at the knee ; 
The hats they wore would awkward look 

Just now to you and me ; 

—9 



122 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

But they were master-builders — men 
Who looked not at the dress 

So much as at the work they did, 
The future age to bless. 

They built for you and me, Mary, 

Those fearless men of old ; 
They built, too, as they fought, Mary, 

For they were warriors bold ; 
They built a country grand and great. 

Reaching from sea to sea ; 
Vouchsafing freedom to each State, 

As well as you and me. 

They left to us a legacy. 

Which we should cherish dear ; 
ISTo foreign foe nor civil strife 

With it should interfere. 
''All men are free and equal born," 

No caste is recognized ; 
The peasant may be president — . 

A fact oft realized. 

What ' s true for you and me, Mary, 

In this broad land to-day. 
Will just as sure be true, Mary, 

A century away. 
The thirteen stars of old, my dear. 

They floated just as true 
O'er thirteen States as now they float 

Abroad with forty-two. 

Then may we not rejoice, Mary, 
O'er progress we have made? 

And build as others built, Mary, 
On the foundation laid? 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 123 

And when our work is done, my dear, 

We hence from here gone home, 
What may our country not expect 

A hundred years to come? 



GRIT. 

' ' Tell me not in mournful numbers, ' ' 
Other men have got more ' ' grit ' ' ; 
You can do as much as they can — 
You must get right up and "git." 

' ' Tell me not in mournful numbers, ' ' 
That you have n' t got the " tin " ; 
Other men have been just like you — 
Something else must make you win. 

"Tell me not in mournful numbers," 
You ' re afraid to leave the shore ; 
Never mind a little wind-storm — 
Scull the boat or break the oar. 

"Tell me not in mournful numbers," 
That you have n' t got the ' ' heft ; ' ' 
If you start not. at the bell-tap, 
You will find that you are left. 

' ' Tell me not in mournful numbers, ' ' 
Something's wrong about the plan, 
As to how the world ' s divided — 
Brace yourself, and be a man. 



124 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

^'Tell me not in mournful numbers," 
That you ' re weary on life' s road ; 
Take your coat off, roll your sleeves up, 
Get behind — help push the load. 



The only way to lessen evil, 
Is to try to increase good ; 

Do n' t stop to parley with the devil 
You can conquer if you would. 



THE AGNOSTIC. 

[Thoughts suggested by Rev. D. Bowers' sermon, Feb. 9th, 1890.] 



What power doth make the sap to flow — 
That fell to earth as rain or snow — 
Its upward course within the tree, 
Produce the flowers and fruit we see ? 
I do not know. 

What guides the wand ' ring wild fowl ' s train 
Across the sea, above the main, 
From southern land to northern clime, 
And back again, nor errs one time? 
I do not know. 

What makes the mists, that rise on high. 
Form clouds that float along the sky ? 
When big with moisture burst and fall 
As rain or snow — a boon to all? 
I do not know. 



PBAIRIE FLOWERS, ' 125 

What sets the snow upon the hills, 
To flowing in a thousand rills, 
That feed the desert, parched and bare. 
Until a garden groweth there? 
I do not know. 

What power doth make the storm to blow, 
The gentle breeze to whisper low ; 
The flood to rage, the stream go dry. 
The brightest day, the darkest sky? 
I do not know. 

What power doth change, in those untaught, 
Their food to flesh and bone and thought ; 
To blood that flows, and nerves that feel. 
And sinews strong as ropes of steel? 
I do not know. 

What power doth lead the minds of men 
To reach beyond where mortal ken 
Hath ever seen — yet hopes to be — 
Why seeks man immortality? 
I do not know. 

What power that dries the widow's tear, 
And soothes the orphan in despair, 
When joy has fled, as it would seem. 
And hope was a forgotten dream ? 
I do not know. 

Is this the answer you would give ? 
Is this the life you dare to live ? 
Is this the joy, is this the hope. 
The end of all your aim and scope? 
I do not know. (?) 



126 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Art thou so dull, thou mortal clod, 
As not to see the hand of God 
In all these things? Grasp Him and see 
How much he does in mystery : 
I do not know. 



REST. 

In youth we go seeking for rest, 
Tho' our way is not always the best : 
We trust we shall find by and by ; 
And we oft build our hopes up high ; 

But the storm comes, anon — 

Lo, the fabric is gone ! 
And we trust in the future again, 
Struggle along, with the pain 
Swelling our breast, as we cry : 
Rest surely will come, by and by — 

It surely will come. 

We seek it again with tears — 
Seek in the midst of the years ; 
High hopes do we hold from the past ; 
We see where we failed in the last 

Great effort we made to attain ; 

We reach, but we reach in vain. - 
Again we ' ve come short of the goal, 
We have sought from the depth of the soul ; 
With a heart full of pain, we cry : 
Rest surely will come, by and by — 

It surely will come. 



PRAIBIE FLOWERS. 127 

We try once again, well aware 
That age has brought with it care ; 
We have learned to rejoice in pain ; v 
Our tears have been as the rain 

That fell on the fallow ground ; 

All seeded the land was found : 
Bright harvests have sprung from the soil, 
Which will ripen in spite of the toil ; 
We rejoice, we rejoice, as we cry : 
Rest surely will come, by and by — 

Rest surely will come. 



PICTURES IN THE FIRE. 



The pictures in the fire, they bring 

The old times back to me ; 
I see the folks all sitting round. 

Just like they used to be : 
There stands the bureau by the wall ; 

On it the old book-case ;^ 
The settee ' s on the other side, 

The stand is in its place. 

The pictures in the fire, they show 

An old familiar sight ; 
The smoke-dyed joists up overhead 

Look blacker in the night, j 
The stair door shut, and everything 

Is snug as it can be ; 
I hear the wind go howling through 

The old mulberry tree. 



128 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

The pictures in the fire, ah ! see 

The dear old faces there, 
That cluster round the old hearthstone — 

To me they ' re wondrous fair ; • 
There mother sits by yonder jamb, 

A-nodding as she knits ; 
And father sitting on the right, 

Smokes his old clay pipe by fits. 

The pictures in the tire, to me 

They moved in endless line ; 
Assumed the most fantastic hues, 

And every quaint design.. 
While mother knit and father smoked. 

The other children ran — 
I sat and gazed in deep amaze, 

And longed to be a man. 

The pictures in the fire, they grew 

To be my chief delight ; 
And splendid were the sights I saw 

On many a winter night. 
I looked out in the future years, 

To see what I could see ; 
And tried to grasp the coming man. 

And fathom mystery. 

The pictures in the fire, they seemed 

To point to victory ; 
And I rejoiced to view those sights 

That others could not see. 
On many a night I 've joyous sought 

My attic resting-place, 
While snow blew thro' the clapboard roof, 

And sifted in my face. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 129 

The pictures in the fire, they lead 

Me wandering on at will, 
Along the devious, winding ways 

That reach before me still. 
I look before, I look behind ; 

Each picture that I see 
Hath its own grace, and in its place 

Of splendor hangs for me. 

The pictures in the fire, they bring 

The old times back to me ; 
And faces dear that I revere, 

Just as they used to be ! 
They bring old scenes, and boyhood dreams, 

And unfulfilled desire 
To me again — and still I love 

The pictures in the fire. 



MAN'S ADAPTATION TO HIS ENVIRONMENT, 



I love to see the shining sun, 

As he appears in space, 
Give light and heat to everyone, 

And joy in every place. 
He smiles with joy upon the young, 

The middle-aged, and old ; 
In every land and every tongue 

His beauties do unfold. 

He warms the blacks in Afric's land, 

In isles amid the sea ; 
Upon the savage on the sand 

He beams most brilliantly. 



130 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

The Arab on the desert, faint, 
The king of day beholds ; 

The thirsty camels 'round him pant — 
He wraps his turban folds. 

And lifts the skin, which from a goat 

He 'd ta'en in days gone by ; 
The water cools his parched throat, 

And lights his filmy eye. 
The green oasis dim he sees. 

The distant palm-trees spread. 
Imagines he the cooling breeze 

Is blowing 'round his head. 

The beauteous green, the orange bloom, 

The coffee's fragrant smell — 
These all he hopes to see full soon. 

And drink from the cool well. 
Tho' hot the sun on desert sands. 

His is a favored lot — 
He thanks Allah — the Prophet's lands 

He 'd change for no known spot. 

And lo ! we turn to Arctic shores, 

Where snows eternal reign ; 
Icebergs around old ocean roars 

In sullen, solemn strain. 
The polar bear, the monarch there, 

Roams o' er the ice and snow ; 
The white fox hides him in his lair 

For fear o' the Eskimo. 

For though 't is cold, and light remain 
Six months from that bleak shore. 

The sun swings 'round that polar plain 
The hours twenty-four. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 131 

The Eskimo in hut of ice ^ 

Is shut from cold and care ; 
Food, fire and light, by his device. 

He takes from seal and bear. 

In his kyak he mounts the wave. 

And stems the ice-cold flood ; 
The fat of seals he fain would have 

For fire and winter food. 
He steals upon the icy floes 

To strike the walrus dead — 
The sun that in the tropic glows 

Is shining on his head. 

In sled of bone and wood and skin, 

And team of dogs before him, 
He goes as blithely as the wind 

That blows so coldly o'er him. 
But ask that Eskimo to go 

Where palms in air are waving ; 
Tell him the country has no snow — 

He '11 say it 's not worth having. 
He sees the sun but half the year. 

But all that time ' t is shining ; 
He takes the night without a fear. 

Nor spends that time repining. 

Go see the Lapp, dressed in his fur. 

Where White Sea billows pour ; 
Drawn in his sled by quaint reindeer. 

The stinging winds before, 
That Lapp, no doubt, thinks he is blest 

In home of cold and snow^ ; 
He would not, could not find him rest 

Where southern breezes blow. 



132 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

No more than he of Araby 

Could dwell in northern clime, 

Beneath the stars, but sunless sky 
Of their long winter-time. 

The one that dwells in Florida, 

Where groves of orange trees, 
And live-oaks growing by the way. 

Are fanned by southern breeze ; 
And grasses growing thick and tall 

By lakes of living water, 
And muddy streams by marsh and fell, 

Where dwells the alligator ; 
Where pine-woods thick are spread afar, 

And forest oaks are growing ; 
Where in the fields, with naught to mar, 

Are flowers sweetly blowing ; 
Or where the keys of rocks do lie 

Beneath the salt-sea wave, 
Where hurricanes go sweeping by, 

And wreck the sailor brave : 
Go ask that Floridian if he 

Would face the Arctic snow. 
Or skim along o'er frozen sea 

'Neath borealis glow; 
I trow his answer quick would be 

A very sturdy ' ' No. ' ' 

The Spaniard mid his olive trees, 
And vineyards' sweet perfume ; 

As well, the dark-hued Portuguese 
In his time-favored home, 

Begirt around by southern seas. 
That heave their ceaseless moan. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS, 138 

Where Tagus broad doth flow along, 

A merry, sparkling river ; 
Upon the banks, bursts forth a song 

Of stately Guadalquiver ; 
The peasant doth his notes prolong — 

A happy, happy liver. 

Go ask that peasant wherefore he 

So cheerily sings his roundelay ; 
Wherefore not seek a new country, 

That newer charms display ? 
A home that 's far beyond the sea — 

Why not go there, I pray ? 
He ' 11 answer thee : " I love this spot ; 

I love the sun that shines, 
I love each little hill and grot, 

I love the trees and vines ; 
I love them, and I '11 leave them not — 

Each 'round my heart entwines. 

Go ask the man that lives in Maine, 

Or dwells in Oregon ; 
The one that lives upon the plain. 

Or dwells the woods among ; 
The one that lives upon the main. 

Or where the rivers run, 
' ' Why dwell you here ? ' ' He will explain : 

Quoth he, "I love the sun, 
I love the birds, I Ibve the bees, 

I love the shrubs and flowers ; 
I love the olden, mossy trees, 

I love the sylvan bowers. 
Where I have felt the cooling breeze 

In all its winsome powers. ' ' 



134 PRAiniE FLOWEUS. 

Or, "I love to look upon the sail, 
That floats upon the tide ; 

I love to hear the coming gale 
Rush o' er the waste so wide ; 

I love to hear the sea's low wail, 
As of a weeping bride." 

The one that dwells upon the plain, 
Will a simjDle answer give : 
"An independence there I gain, 
And there I like to live;- 

The sun shines warm, I love the rain, 
And nature primitive." 

' T is thus we see in every clime 
Where man on earth bears rule ; 

There is an ear for every chime. 
And scholars for each school ; 

Thus everything's arranged sublime, 
And man is not a fool. 



MY DAUGHTERS. 



I have a child, a little girl. 
Five summers hath she seen ; 

And very dear is she to me, 
And loves me well, I ween. 

Often when the evening 's fair 
And the sun is growing low. 

To breathe afresh the cool sweet air, 
We will together go. 



) 



PMAIBIE PLOWEns. 135 

And as I sit on some green bank, 

Where flowers sweetly blow, 
Around she plays full many a prank, 

Till her cheeks are all aglow. 

Her limbs are slight and quite well made, 

And golden is her hair. 
And hangeth long — the little jade 
^ To me is passing fair. 

Her eyes are black as ebony, 

Sparkling, bright and clear, 
An-d sweet her voice echoes to me, 

When talking to me there. 

She runneth here and stoppeth there 

To pluck some flower wild, 
Which Providence in His wise care 

Has made to please the child. 

The summer clouds float slowly by. 

Lit by the sun's last rays. 
Like ruined castles in the air. 

With windows all ablaze. 



The night is coming in the east. 
And insects buzz around ; 

Soon to rest will man and beast — 
The dew is on the ground. 

I take my daughter by the hand. 
And homeward wend our way ; 

We look out o'er the dusky land. 
For now 't is close of day. 



186 PRAiniB FLOWERS. 

And going to the eastward we, 

In twilight cool and damp, 
When lo ! mj child shouts loud in glee, 
"O see the Good Man's lamp ! " 

And looking up, what do I see? 

Nor Cometh it too soon — 
There riseth up right prettily 

The yellow, full, round moon. 

And thus it was in childish prate, 
My child gave it a name ; 

And her I often imitate. 
By calling it the same. 



Another little girl have I, 

A little child of three ; 
Her eyes the color of the sky, 

And pleasant are to see. 

Her face is round and fair and sweet, 

In ringlets fall her hair ; 
Her limbs are full from head to feet. 

There 's none could more compare. 

Her childish voice is always dear, 
Her father loves it well — 

Tho'. not in words she speaketh clear. 
We know what she would tell. 

'T is when my daily task is done, 
And home I come from school. 

Her busy feet to meet me, run — 
A never-failing rule. 



—10 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 137 

As glad slie clasps me by the hand 

And looks up in mj face, 
Oh, who could fail to understand, 

Or such sweet love misplace? 

And by my side the child will walk, 

With head all bare, and feet, 
Nor ceasing in her childish talk 

Since she did me first greet. 

And thus she leads me to the door, 

' T is beautiful to see ! 
Her actions tell me evermore 

How well she loveth me. 



Another child have I, (for three 
Have decked my humble home ; 

What heaven kindly portions me, 
I welcome when they come.) 

A daughter fair, her age in days 
Small effort takes to tell, 

But still we love her infant ways 
As parents always will. 

She (as the rosebud in the morn 
Puts forth its first bright bloom. 

Ere ruthless hand it off hath torn. 
To wither up by noon,) 

Appeareth fresh ; the blood of life 
Flows free in her young veins ; 

This world to her with all its strife 
JSTor pleasures give, nor pains. 



138 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Content is she from mother's breast 
To draw her milky store, 

Or else to sleep in quiet rest 
Or babble baby lore. 



"Now which of these dost thou love best?" 
Oh, ask thou not of me ! 
I feel that I am equal blest 
In loving them all three. 

I love the eldest for her sense 

Displayed from day to day ; 
Her knowledge is my recompense. 

And doubly doth repay. 

My second child, her loving heart 

Doth round my soul entwine. 
She is of me a counterpart — 

A part of me and mine. 

My youngest, she is innocence. 

From sin and sorrow free : 
I love them each in every sense. 

And love them equally. 



OH, COME YE TO THIS PRAIRIE LAND. 



Oh, come ye to this prairie land. 

Ye toilers of the East ; 
Come place in ours your horny hand, 

And join in Freedom's feast. 



PRAIRIE flowers! 139 

Come, leave the smoke and noisy din, 

Come where the air is pure ; 
Begin the battle o'er again, 

Receive new strength t' endure. 

Come, where embattlements are raised 

To shield our thousands born ; 
By shields of wheat are foes amazed. 

And myriad spears of corn. 

Come where you meet your brother man 
On free and equal ground ; 
\ Where none dare raise the sdcial ban, 

And slaves are never found ! 

Come, bring your children to our schools 

Here education reigns ; 
One goes elsewhere to seek for fools 

Than on our grassy plains ! 

Come, where our rivers flow so clear 

Among our hills and dales ; 
Where all the land conspires to cheer. 

And breathes it on the gales. 

Come where the sod house once withstood 

The frontier' s lonely blast ; 
You '11 find instead, a house of wood 

Green fields surround it vast. 

Come, where the hand of industry 

Hath planted trees and vines ; 
They navigate the grainy sea. 

They 've opened up her mines. 



140 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 

Come, where great cities up have sprung 
From a once barren waste ; 

Where plenty from the soil is wrung, 
Where honest toil is blest. 

Come, toiler in the east-land, come. 
Give us your horny hand ; 

We greet you in our prairie home, 
Our sunny Western land. 



THE GIRL BEYOND THE BRIDGES. 



When but a lad, both young and green, 

I fell in love prodigious, 
Wi' a lady fine, (I wished her mine) — 

Who lived beyond the bridges. 

When e' er I saw her, church or fair. 

It made me have the fidges ; 
She made my heart go pit-a-pat — 

This girl beyond the bridges ! 

She looked so sweet, and dressed so neat. 

An' then she was religious : 
She seemed a very saint to me — 

This girl beyond the bridges. 

I used to whistle, sing, and think. 
While walking 'tween the ridges 

Among the corn : no other ' s born 
Like her beyond the bridges ! 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 141 

Oh, she was small, demure, withal, 

The very queen of midges ; 
And such a voice she had — oh, my ! 

This girl beyond the bridges ! 

One night she gave my heart a shock — 

It seemed most sacrilegious : 
She said I need not come again — 

That girl beyond the bridges ! 



A KANSAS EPISODE. 



[The following poem was published in behalf of the cow — not only the one who 
took part in this supposed dialogue, but all the cows in Kansas. This one paid the 
author for having this made public, and in good time suffered the fate she so much 
feared. Peace to her ashes !] 

"Well, master, you have come at last. 
And brought my ev'ning's dry repast ; 
A dozen times I ' ve for it asked 

In this half-hour ; 
You would not be with idlers classed. 

And ' buse your power ? ' ' 

To say ' ' surprised ' ' would not express ' t, ■ 
To be thus by a cow addressed ; 
An' humbled too, I must confess it. 

And by a beast ; 
I thought, "]^ow what a pretty mess it, 

To say the least." 

But I put e'en the best o' face on 't, 
Nor let her chiding one bit daunt, 
Altho' she did her cow-lip vaunt 

In bieastly fashion ; 
I listened to her grumblin' chant. 

An' fruitless clashin'. 



142 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

"Cherry," said I, ".what's the matter? 
What d' je mean bj all this clatter? 
Do you think you '11 grow much fatter, 

E'en by such talk? 
Or that we will treat you better, 

For finding fault? 

' ' We do the very best we can ; 
We feed you mornings good sweet bran, 
Your mistress mixes wi' her own han' 

In tepid water ; 
I can't for my life understand 
What's the matter!" 

"Well, master, since I 've silence broke, 
(Perhaps no word I should have spoke,) 
The god of cattle I '11 invoke 

In silent prayer ; 
That I may talk to human folk 

Wi' language clear. 

"The first thing I have on my mind, 
(I will acknowledge you are kind. 
To treat me well you are inclined. 

All in your way ; 
But if it ' s th' way of human-kind, 

Then woe is me ! ) 

» 
"What have you done wi' my dear bossy, 

I used to cuddle up so cozy? 

His shining eyes were just as saucy 

As calves' can be : 
I licked his hair and made it glossy — 

That you could see ! 



PBAIRIE FLOWERS. 143 

''I loved that calf, but some one took it ; 
The ways of men I think are crooked — 
If I was loose I would not brook it ; 

But oh ! this rope ! 
I ' ve not much in this world to look at 

In my small scope." 

''But Cherry," said I, "worry not; 
If you were loose you might get shot, 
And other evils, who knows what, 

Might befall you ; 
Thank heaven you 've a good master got. 

An' do n' t bewail y e. " 

"Good master ! " quick she answered then, . 
' ' Why, I ' ve not e' en a stall or pen, 
To shield me from the cold north wind 

And snow together ; 
An' cattle suffer much like men. 
In wintry weather. 

' 'A plague upon the ones who bring 
Among us such a wicked thing, 
As a hempen rope for picketing. 

To hold us fast ; 
And when old age about us cling. 

Eat us at last ! 

' ' I long to once be free again ; 
To roam around, and by the stream 
To drink, or lie and rest obtain. 

Like other kine ; 
Not fastened up with rope or chain. 

An' fed like swine ! 



144 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

''I hate to have mid snow and sleets, 
A hand a-pulling at my teats ; 
Such actions, sure, all nature beats — 

I dare not kick ; 
My mistress does some wondrous feats 

With an old stick." 

I could no longer bear the bluff : 
' ' Come, Cherry, this is rather tough ; 
Do n't you think you ' ve said enough? " 

I kindly said. 
Quoth Cherry, "Master, I was rough 

And hung her head. 



5 J 
5 



"Cherry," said I, looking at her, 

An' thinking praise a bit would flatter, 
"Folks like us must e'en have butter, 
An' this you know ; 
Then some may think that you're no better 
Than 'nother cow. 

"But then your mistress, let me tell you. 
Would not let your master sell ye ; 
And I hope you '11 not compel me 

To insist on ' t ; " 

I like you too, an' therefore will ye 

So persist in ' t ? 

"Your milk and cream they richer are 
Than any neighbor cow' s, by far ; 
And then we keep it in a jar 

For special use ; 
My folks are quite particular 

On milky views ! 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 145 

"And I am ready to allow 
You 're nothing but a poor man's cow ; 
But that ' s a blessing, I avow, 

For that poor man ; 
If you should die, I don't know how 
He ' d keep his woman. ' ' 

Thus by my words right eloquent, 
I did my case so represent. 
That banished was all discontent 

By my entreating ; 
She lowed a low acknowledgment. 

An' went to eating. 



WHY I LOVE HER. . 

So YOU ask me, why I love her? 

Well, I think I ought to know. 
For we two have been acquainted 

Since a mighty spell ago. 
It has been so long a-growin'. 

Has this burnin' love o' mine. 
That it ' s got to be a motive 

Which appears almost divine. 

I love her for the way she has 

Of makin' me to love her ; 
The time and place when that began 

I cannot now discover. 
I love her hair, I love her eyes, 

I love her face and figure ; 
I love her voice, so sweet and clear, 

An' full of life and vigor. 



146 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Her smiles so sweet, thej but complete 

The acme of my wishes ; 
They're just the same, at church or fair, 

Or when she's washin' dishes. 
She does not lounge in the best room 

And pound the new piano, 
While her poor mother mops the floor — 

She does not sing soprano : 

But merry as a bird in spring, 

She sings while she is churnin' ; 
She calls her mother "love" and "dear," 

An' keeps the bread from burnin' . 
She's not ashamed of calico, 

Nor workin' in the kitchen ; 
She says no work is a disgrace, 

No matter if it's ditchin'. 

Oh, she can bake, an' she can sew, 

And she can love a fellow 
Until he do n' t know nothin' else, 

An' can't tell green from yellow. 
I think my girl is just the girl — 

I do n' t want any other ; 
It makes me awful glad to think 

I was n' t born her brother. 

She's promised that she'll marry me 

When autumn leaves are flyin' ; 
An' I can't think o' nothin' else, 

It 's just no use a-tryin'. 
An' that ' s what makes me love her so — 

That is, because I love her ; 
Tho' I may be a love-sick swain, 

I hope I won't recover. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 147 

INGENUITY. 



A MAN was walking on a road, 
And a woman on another, 
Till bj and by they reached a point 
Where both roads came together. 

On his head th' man a kettle bore, 
■ And in one hand a chicken 'y 
With the other he carried a cane, 
A leading goat to quicken. 

A dark ravine was just ahead : 
' ' Sir, ' ' said the woman, "I'm afraid 
To pass with you this lonely place ; 
You might o'ercome a simple maid. 
And kiss her by main force." 

"How can**! e'er do that," said he, 
"With all this load to hinder? 

This kettle on my head I bear, 

And in one hand a chicken ; 

And in the other hold a cane. 

This lazy goat to quicken." 

' ' But hold ! ' ' cried out the modest maid 
It filled the man with wonder — 

"To turn the kettle upside down 
And put the chicken under ; 
Stick the cane fast in the ground — 
A tied goat cannot run, sir. 
You might do this without assistance. 
And kiss me, ' spite of all resistance. ' ' 



148 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 

O happy wit ! ingenious maid ! 
Rejoiced the man, nor longer stayed ; 
But hastened on, as will be seen, 
And paused within the dark ravine : 
Deep stuck his cane the pathway by, 
And quickly there the goat did tie ; 
And as the maid essayed to pass, 
"Please hold the fowl, while I cut grass 
To feed my goat," he said. ISTo wonder 
The pot soon held the chicken under. 
The story goes — so we have heard — 
He kissed her, just as she had feared. 



MY WEST COUNTRY LOVE. 



I LOVE a maiden, oh, so fair. 
Out in the West Countrie ; 
She has blue eyes and golden hair. 
Out in the West Countrie — 
The bonny West, 
The gayest, best. 
The bonny West Countrie. 

Her song is sweet as nightingale. 

Out in the West Countrie ; 

Her cheek would make the roses pale, 

Out in the West Countrie, 

And shame the tint 

Of sunset in ' t — 

The bonny West Countrie. 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 149 

I love this maid, and she loves me, 

Out in the West Countrie ; 

Mayhap, you wonder who she be. 

Out in the West Countrie, 

Whose love, I know, 

Is pure as snow, 

Out in the West Countrie. 

Well may I sing of this fair maid. 

Out in the West Countrie ; 
She 's three years old, the little jade, 
Out in the West Countrie, 
And cries "papa," 
And laughs ha-ha ! 
Out in the West Countrie. 



THE WORKER'S SONG. 



This old world is a world of work 

And human sacrifice. 
Since Adam built for Mother Eve 

A bower in Paradise. 

To work and suffer is our .lot — 
A bane and yet a boon ; 

The mortal mind would grow a blank, 
If 't were eternal noon. 

The rich must work to save their gold. 
The poor to earn their bread ; 

This world is not in sympathy 
Wi' the lazy, empty head. 



150 PBAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Tho' man, thro' all the ages past. 
Has felt inclined to shirk ; 

And yet is never satisfied. 
Unless he is at work. 

And work we must ; we work, and trust 
The resting-time will come ; 

But this old world won't let us rest, 
While here we make our home. 

Then up ! away ! at dawn of day, 
To forest, shop, and farm ; 

Let anvils ring, and workmen sing — 
Sing out the glad alarm. 

This old world is a friend to work, 

It furnishes us bread ; 
While we would make a fair exchange 

And work for her instead. 

Ring out the clarion notes, ring out 
The song o' er land and sea ; 

This good old world 's a friend to work — 
A friend to you and me. 

So let us not fall out with her — 
The world ' s what we make it ; 

And if our portion ' s not the best, 
Better far to take it. 

We ' 11 work, and work, and work, and work. 
With God' s assisting grace ; 

And by and by, we hope to reach 
Our final resting-place. 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 151 

COME, SIT THEE DOWN WITH ME, LOVE. 

[a love song.] 



Come, sit thee down with me, love, 

Come sit thee down, I pray, 
And tell me how 'twill be, love, 

When you and I are gray? 
Will you e'er love me less, love, 

And will our hearts grow cold. 
When the evening of our life, love, 

Is lit with sunset gold? 

When faces now so fair, love, 

Will lose their ruddy hue ; 
And forms of grace so rare, love, 

To beauty bid adieu. 
Can this warm heart of thine, love. 

That beats in my embrace. 
Forget that joy divine, love. 

Now beaming on thy face? 

Dost thou not call to mind, love, 

The day thou promised me? 
They say that love is blind, love ; 

Nay, I would blinder be. 
With flowers thou didst deck, love. 

Thy bosom and thy hair ; 
My cup of joy was full, love. 

Thou wert so good and fair. 

But there was yet a day, love, 
When thou wast lovelier yet : 

The day that we were wed, love, 
I never can forget ! 



152 PRAIRIE FL0WBR8. 

It seemed that heaven and earth, love, 

Were not so far a^art, 
When after we were wed, love, 

I clasped thee to my heart. 

But we are growing old, love. 

And little lambs have come 
- To play within our fold, love. 

And find with us a home. 
But we can cherish them, love. 

And guide them on the way ; 
Nor need we love the less, love. 

Because our heads are gray. 

And if we chance to see, love. 

Our golden wedding morn. 
Let ' s show our children dear, love. 

Our love in heaven was born. 
And when our parting ' s near, love. 

And you must go, or I, 
We'll go in perfect peace, love, 

For love can never die. 



JESSELLA. 



I HAVE a bit of sunshine 

That illuminates my home ; 
There are no darkened corners 

Wherever she doth come. 
With joy she runneth over 

From morning until night ; 
(Jessella! O Jessella ! 

You make my heart beat light ! ) 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 153 

I have a little maiden, 

She ' s barely two years old ; 
She prattles out her wishes 

In words of purest gold. 
She asks papa for ' ' canny, ' ' 

When he comes home at night ; 
(Jessella! OJessella! 

You make my heart beat light ! ) 

She ' s mamma' s little treasure : 

Her eyes are azure blue. 
Her cheeks are pink like roses, 

Her hair is Saxon hue. 
She ' s a very proper ' ' infant ' ' 

To bring the tears to sight ; 
(Jessella! OJessella! 

You make my heart beat light ! ) 

She's meek as any "mousie," 

Of mischief she is full ; 
She ' s sweet as any peony — 

The sweetest I might cull. 
Her voice is like the singing 

Of nightingales at night ; 
(Jessella ! O Jessella ! 

You make my heart beat light ! ) 

Oh, happy is the father, 

Thrice is the mother blest. 
When Heaven sends such birdlings 

To cheer so poor a nest ! 
Dear God, protect our nestlings. 

Make them Thy choice delight ; 
(Jessella ! O Jessella ! 
-11 You make our hearts beat light ! ) 



154 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 



SONG TO LIBERTY. 



Wheee the rocky headlands glisten, 

On the further shores of Maine, 
To the peaceful western ocean, 

O ' er the intervening plain, 
Sing the song of freedom, ever, 

Sing it always to the free ; 
Let each valley, hill, and mountain. 

Echo hail to Liberty ! 

Chorus : Hail, O hail, sweet Liberty ! 

Hail, O hail, sweet Liberty ! 

Sound the song from sea to sea, 

Hail, O hail, sweet Liberty ! 

Bird of freedom, spread thy plumage. 

Take thy flight o' er all this land ! 
Do we need this reassurance? 

Will we any firmer stand? 
Have we aot the blood of martyrs 

Flowing in our very veins? 
Think you, could a tyrant ever 

Hold our governmental reins? 

' T is essential in formation 

That the baser must depart. 
If the grandest superstructure 

Prove a lasting work of art. 
So it is with us, a nation, 

As doth sound the march of time. 
We must build a sure foundation. 

Reaching after the sublime. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 155 

Talk to me of pomp and splendor, 

Where they forge the tyrant's chain — 
Give me freedom, where the mountain 

Slopes to meet the virgin plain ; 
Where the rich and poor together 

Have one common place to meet. 
Where their ballots form a lever. 

Lifting evil from its seat. 

We have freedom — do we prize it ? 

Have we ever by it stood ? 
Know, the blood of our forefathers 

Flowed to make the compact good. 
Blessed Freedom ! we should love it ! 

For it stand, to do or die ! 
Grandest boon to mortal given, 

Hail ! all hail to Liberty ! 



A TEMPERANCE BATTLE HYMN. 



Come out ! come out ! ye valiant ones, 

With armor burnished bright ; 
Come out to-night, prepared to fight 

For God, and for your homes. 
Have you no friends on dangerous ground ? 

Have you no son, no daughter? 
r . Oh, know you not, the foe doth come. 

With hands all red from slaughter ! 

Chorus : Come out ! come out ! ye valiant ones, 
With armor burnished bright ; 
Come out to-night, prepared to fight 
• For God, and for your homes. 



156 PRAIRIE FLOWER 8. 

Oh, hear the wail from countless homes ! 

How can you idly stand ? 
Oh, will you not unfold your hand. 

To help these helpless ones ? 
They need your help as ne' er before ; 

God calls, will you refuse Him? 
Put on the panoply of war, 

Rejoicing that you choose Him. 

There is no neutral ground to-night ; 

So sound the forward cry ; 
^Come out, resolved to do or die, 

Marching in God' s own might. 
We'll break the chains of Alcohol, 

And set his prisoners free ; 
We ' 11 raise our standard stamped with ' ' Right, 

God, Home, and Liberty. 



?5 



WORKMAN SONG. 



We are a band of Workmen, 

Bound in life and death ; 
We ' 11 by each other stand true. 

So long as we draw breath. 
Worthy our avocation. 

The widow to sustain ; 
And in the darkest moment. 

To ease the orphan' s pain. 

We visit the afflicted, 

And show a brother's care ; 
Drive off the coming shadows, 

Let in the sunlight fair. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 157 

We show the world around us, 

We have a work to do ; 
And then we show them, further 

That we are Workmen true. 

As Workmen, ever ready, 

We list to hear the cry 
Of brothers when they're needy, 

And quickly to them fly. 
If you would do your duty. 

Come ioin our noble band — 
A living chain of brothers, 
- Encircling all this land. 



A TWILIGHT SONG. 



I LONG to go and be with thee, 

Be with thee 
Under the shade o' the greenwood tree, 

Greenwood tree ; 
Close by the fountain-side, 
Close by the mountain-side, 

Under the shade o' the greenwood tree. 

There we loved in the long ago. 

Long ago ; 
There primrose and violets grew, 

Yiolets grew. 
Where the world upon us smiled. 
Where we were by love beguiled. 

Loved we there, and loved so true. 



158 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

I was young, and you were fair, 

You were fair, 
How I longed to tarry there, 

Tarry there ; 
Looking in your eyes so sweet. 
Resting in your love complete, 

I was young and you were fair. 



KANSAS SONG. 

[ Tune : Betty Martin, O ! J 



Oh, Kansas is the land for me, 
Kansas, bright and sunny, O ; 

Health and wealth and breezes free, 
A land of milk and honey, O. 

Chorus : Oh, Kansas is the land for me, 
For happy lads and lassies, O, 
In health and wealth and breezes free, 
Kansas far surpasses, O. 

Oh, Kansas is the land for me. 
One boundless, grand prairie, O ; 

In summer-time ' t is blithe to see 
Her flowers sweet and cheery, O. 

Oh, Kansas is the land for me, 
A land of law and order, O ; 

Ever fighting to be free. 

Since fighting on the border, O. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 159 

Oh, Kansas is the land for me, 

A land of whisky clear, O ; 
No drinking shops can licensed be, 

Nor selling ale and beer, O. 

Oh, Kansas is the land for me, 

A land of corn and wheat, O ; 
A land so highly favored, we 

Must think it hard to beat, O. 

Oh, Kansas is the land for me, 

A land of sheep and cattle, O ; 
Tho' herder lads do disagree. 

And make their navies rattle, O. 

Oh, Kansas is the land for me. 

Where poor men can have plenty, O ; 

Invest a dollar properly, 

In time it will make twenty, O. 






Oh, Kansas is the land for me 
With Kansas I'm content, O 

As long as she ' s so kindly, we 
Have nothing to repent, O. 



POEMS IN DIALECT. 



SOPPIN' DE PAN. 



I 'members mighty well de time, 

Way back in ole Yirginny, 
When mammy war a slave, an' me 

A little pickaninny. 
An' den dar was my brudder Pete, 
De greates' darkey fo' ter eat ! 

Den dar was Abe, an' dar was Lem, 

I nebber saw de beats ob dem ; 
But best of all was sister Ann, 
Who uster he' p me sop de pan ! 

My mammy war a slave, yo' know, 
An' he'ped de white-house missus; 

She nus' white chillun same as black. 
An' cove'd dem with kisses. 

She raise young massa, fo' de wa' ; 

I wish dey haddent freed us, fo' 

We's had ha'd times sence dem old days- 
Leastway, dat's what my mammy says; 

I guess dat ' s so, f o' bless de Ian' ! 

'T ain't no good now ter sop de pan. 

(161) 



162 PBAIRIE FLOWER 8. 

Dem gran' ole times w' en I ' s a chile, 

Dey sets my eyes a winkin', 
Wen I sets down befo' de fiah, 
An git ter thinkin', thinkin'; 
De cabin walls light up agin, 
De darkeys come a troopin' in : 

De day's wo'k done, an' dey is glad, 
Fo' hot hoe-cake am not so bad ; 
Wile mammy fried de bacon, an' 
Me Stan' in' by ter sop de pan. 

Dem gran' ole times ! de banjo soun', 

De bones dey went a whackin' ; 
De way dem darkeys danced aroun', 

Jes' sot dem j'ice a-crackin'. 
De darkies made dem qua'tahs ring 
Wid banjo, bones, an' fiddle string ; 
Dey got enough ter eat an' weah, 
An' fo' de res' dey diddent ca'e. 
An' as fo' me, yo' understan', 
I's happies' w'en I sop de pan. 

I doan lib in a cabin now, 

I doan lib in Yirginny ; 
An' how I libs, I jes' dunno — 

I hain' t no pickaninny ! 
I's jes' an' ole white-washin' nig ; 
Dar hain't no one dat min' s a fig 

Ef I should lib, ef I should die. 

W at am de re' son ? Doan know why ; 
I ' d gib a million aker o' Ian' 
Ter be a chile, an' sop de pan ! 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 163 

DE SINGIN' OB DE SKEETERS IN DE A'R. 



Dey tell us erbout de nightengale 

Dat sings in de lonesome night ; 
Dey tell us erbout how de skylark sings, 

When he soars up out ob sight. 
But people am funny, dere taste am such, 
You nebber kin please ' em wid little or much. 

Dis darkey got an idee in his thick pate, 

Dat ob all de music made 'arly or late, 
Dere's nuffin in de worP dat he'd compare 
Wid de singin' ob de skeeters in de a' r. 

I useter go er fishin' in de ole millpon' , 

Fer de sunfish playin' in de shade ; 
I sot in de boat an' pulled ' em out 

Ob de nests dat dey had made. 
De pine-trees dey. moaned, an' de frogs did sing, 
De skill-pot tar-pins on de logs did cling, 

De sun biled down, de win' was dead ; 

Dis darkey got a notion in his ole head, 
Dere was nuffin eroun' him to compare, 
Wid de singin' ob de skeeters in de a'r. 

When I uster go ter co't my M'riar 

At de cabin in de woods ; 
An' de whippo' wills were cryin' eroun' 

In de solem-nest ob-moods ; 
De breeze er blowin' fru de open door. 
An' de words ob lub gittin' lower an' lower; 

Dere was er mighty silence ; M' riar she sed. 

When close erbout us er hol'in her head : 
Dere's nuffin' 'tall erbout dat I'd compare 
Wid de singin' ob de skeeters in de a'r. 



164 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Dem days are all ober, de y' ars comin' on, 

Dere ' s white streaks gittin' in de wool ; 
M'riar she am ole, de chillun dej am grown, 

De rheumatiz givin' me er pull ; 
De cabin in de woods am all gone now, 
De woods am cP ared an' ready f er de plow, 

De ole millpon' has washed away de dam ; 

But dat doan' change de 'pinion ob Sam: 
Dere ' s nuffin' in de worl' dat he ' d compare 
Wid de singin' ob de skeeters in de a'r. 



DE FROG SONG. 



I usETEK set er nights an' lis' en to de frogs, 
As dey kep' up dere croakin' in -de pon' ; 

De tune dey sung was er berry ole tune, 

Dey sung to me by de light ob de moon, 
Sittin' on de shore, squattin' on de logs : 

You o-w-e ! you o-w-e ! ter-bac-ky ! ter-bac-ky ! 
Dey kep' up de tune de whole night long, 
W id many war' ations, de same ole song : 

You o-w-e ter-bac-ky ! you o-w-e ter-bac-ky ! 

I useter go er nights er huntin' fer de coon, 

Fer he done gone an' steal de new-groun' co'n ; 

My ole dog Jup'ter he done foun' de trail. 

He make dat coon go floppin' his ole tail, # 

An' he run ' im up er tree putty soon : 

You b-w-e ! you o-w-e ! ter-bac-ky ! ter-bac-ky ! 
De frogs dey sung in de swamp clos' by. 
An' kep' it up when de bresh burnt high : 

You o-w-e ter-bac-ky ! you o-w-e ter-bac-ky ! 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 165 

I done got dat Mistah Coon when de daylight come, 
He nebber steal new-groun' co'n no more: 

I 'vited all my frens de Sundy nex', 

An' preached er sarmon wid coon f er er t^x' ; 
Er niggah full ob coon am mighty dumb: 

You o-w-e ! you o-w-e ! ter-bac-ky ! ter-bac-ky ! 
Dem frogs sung out when de twilight growed, 
Tellin' me erbout what I all 'long knowed : 

You o-w-e ter-bac-ky ! you o-w-e ter-bac-ky ! 



PLANTATION MEMORIES. 

Way back in ole Yirginny State, 
On niassa' s big plantation, 

We darkeys useter cut an' ca've 
Fat 'possum like de nation. 

De way ob dat was dis, yo' see : 

Dat 'possum dim' er 'simmon tree, . 
Er darkey come erlong dat way. 
He see dat 'possum, an' he say, 
•'Mistah 'Possum, I's yo' fren'," 

Clom dat tree, an' tuk him in. 

I 'member once, ole massa Clem 

Gib us darkeys holiday, 
Jes' as long as de back-log las' — 

He poke de fiah alway — 
We darkeys play ole marse er trick ; 
We cut er gum tree by de crick, 

Roll' d de log in dar ter soak. 

Den tell ole massa hit war oak ; 
We put hit on de fiah, an' sneak : 
Ole marse, he 2?unch dat log er week ! 



166 PRAIRIE FI0WER8. 

An' den agin, ole marse he gone, 
We darkeys stole er sheep, 

Tuk off de skin an' bu'nt hit up — 
Dej's nebber fit ter keep. 

We got some nice sweet-taters den. 

An' 'vited all de darkies in 

Ter hab a reg' lar hoe-down dance : 
I riccollec' mj pa'dner, Nance, 

De putties' gal on dat ar flo' — 

We cut some dandj capers, sho' ! 

We had two fiddlers, 'stead o' one. 

An' one ob dem er new one ; 
He scrape dat fiddle jes' as do' 

He altogedder true one ; 
But dat was whar de mischief come : 
Ole marse, he not gone 'way f om home ; 
He black his-se' f an' play de spy : 
He war dat fiddler — wish may die! 
Dat story war too good ter keep — 
Ole marse foun' out who stole de sheep ! 

Dat Nance she done played off on me, 

An' tuk anodder nigger ; 
Den come de wah ; marse j'ine de rebs 

An' cut er putty ^ggQw 
Den Massa Linkum's sogers Ian', 
An' I run off er contraban'. 

To come up Norf ter starve an' freeze, 

An' do jes' what de w'ite folks please. 
Dem 'possum-eatin' days am gone ; 
■ I wish dey wa'n't, do', sho 's yo' bo'n ! 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 167 

GHOSTS. 



I 'sE f raid o' ghosts ? ob co' se I is, 

Fer I 'se don' seed 'era, sho' ; 
Yo' doan cotcli me nigh no grabe-ya'd — 

I ' se nebber gwine dar no mo' . 
Dis jes' kind o' night dat dey goes out — 

I spec' s I see one yit ; 
Dey 's trabblin' roun', dar hain't no doubt — 

Not in my min' one bit. 

Dis jes' berry same kin' ob night, 

Dat gwine down Long Lane, 
By meetin' house, on Warnit Hill, 

W en hit begin ter rain : 
Dar's grabe-stones all behin' dat chu'cli, 

Folks doan meet dar no mo' : 
I had ter go by, or else go back — 

De rain had-' gin to po'. 

Dar hain't no lock on dat ole do', 

En' w'en I got up nigh, 
My ole wool all stood up on eend — 

I hea'd some chillun cry. 
Dat ' s mighty po' place fer chile ter be. 

In dat ole ' zerted chu'ch ; 
I tho't some bad 'un mebbe lef 

Her baby in de lu'ch. 

I push de do' , w' en biff, ker-zip ! 

Dar 's som'pin jumped right out ; 
Yo' bettah b'lieve dis darky sca'ed. 

His ha't right in his mouf. 



168 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Dat ghos' look like a leetle sheep, 
But wa'nt no sheep, I know, 

Do' some w'ite folks dey say hit ^oas — 
I has seen ghos^ l)efo\ 

De debbil he shuffle mighty quick, 

He change f ' om chile ter sheep ; 
Maybe f om sheep ter som'pin wo's, 

Den on dis darkey leap ! 
Yo' doan cotch me nigh no grabe-ya'd, 

I ' se nebber gwine dar no mo' ; 
I know a ghos' w'en I see one, 

For I ^se seen gJios^ hefo\ 



A LASS I KENNED. 



A lass I kenned ance on a time, 
Whan but a lad, an' in my prime, 
I lo' ed to sing her praise in rhyme 

O' hamely make ; 
I maun confess, her face lang syne 

Gar'd my heart ache. 

The record is nae weel writ doun, 

But then 'twas kenned by neibors roun' : 

In a' that country werena' found 

Not ane sae fair ; 
Her beauty reached frae fit to crown, 

It was sae rare. 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 169 

An' then she had sic bonnie een, 

Whilk shot young Cupid's darts sae clean, 

Few hearts possessed frae them a screen — 

Sae lang an' sharp, 
They gar'd the strangest o' them scream 

Like ony harp. 

Her hands they were sae straught an' fine. 
An' then her voice seemed a' divine ; 
Sae lang ' s I lo' ed her, I was blind 

To ilka faut ; 
I wad ye bear this thing in mind, 

As mony ought. 

A heart ' s a heart, an' weel I ken. 
The ane I ha'e 's like ither men ; 
Tho' brak', may grow thegither, when 

Time gi ' es a chance ; 
Saut tears may flow, but as we mend, 

ReDew the dance. 

I ha'e new tho'ts, I ha'e new friends. 
An' frae lang syne, thae mak' amends ; 
I ' se bid adieu the auld wax-ends 

That hand sae Strang ; 
The toughest timmers aften bend, 

Nor yet gae wrang. 

I ken, ye think I maun be daft, 
To sing a sang sae unco saft ; 
Perhaps in ither' s sleeve ye laughed. 

An' nod your poll ; 
Gin ye did nae the same thing aft, 

Syne wha's the fool? 



12— 



170 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

* We ' se ony sing o' youthf u' smarts. 

Whan twa' maun play a game o' cartes ; 
An' ane o' these, the queen o' hearts. 

Maun lead tE*e game ; 
Tho' saMy hame gaed mony darts. 

She 's no the blame ! 

We ' se ha' e our will, if no the wish : 
Gin smallest herrin' grow to fish, 
We ' se aften get the ane toom dish, 

Amang the lave ; 
Great be the fa' ! we 're nae sae fresh 

To weep an' rave. 

Gin ye ha'e been thro' a' these years. 
An' gif ye shed sae mony tears, 
An' tethered be wi' a' the fears 

Some ithers ha' e ; 
Thy lyart haJffet wrinkled, bears 

A look o' wae. 

Ye ' 11 tak' this sma' advice o' me : 
O'er youthfu' follies no to gree. 
But blythe an' fou o' joy to be 

Frae morn till e' en ; 
Wha says ye shouldna', tells a lee, 

' T is plainly seen. 

The lassie that I ance did ken, 
Lang ' s married to the best o' men ; 
Nae doubt she ' s weel contented then, 

Wi' bairns enow ; 
That husband no is me, depend. 

It maun be you ! 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 171 



TO ROBERT BURNS. 



Robin, tho' lang je ha'e been dead, 
Ye ' re livin' still, as lang ' s ye ' re read ; 
An' till the time I 've lost mj head, 

I ' 11 ca' ye brither ; 
How aft I ' ve followed whan ye lead, 

As did nae ither ! 



Ye was, nae doubt, a winsome carl, 
As ever danced thro' this auld warP ; 
An' muckle din' an' righteous snarl 

Ye gar' d them mak' ; 
An' tho' ye was nae duke nor arl. 

Ye took the cake. 



Ye had great gift o' gab, nae doubt : 
An' hypocrites sae feared thy knout. 
Whan you was in, they wanted out, 

An' weel they might ; 
They kenned ye 'd soon put them to rout — 

An' serve 'em right. 



Ye lo'ed the maidens a', it seemed ; 

An' by your sangs, ye maun ha'e dreamed 

About them, Rab — or swats sae reamed 

Within your noddle ; 
Ye would na' ha'e at Nannie screamed, 

An' fetched the bogle. 



172 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

An' Rab, I ken, ye lo' ed the drink ; 
Too aft, o' nights, ye slept nae wink ; 
An' how the deil your crambo-clink 

Kept aye in tune ! 
Whan stumpie ga' ed down i' the ink, 

Out cam' a croon ! 

It made nae differ, whare or when, 
Among the maids, or 'mang the men, 
Ye never lacked a rhymin' end 

To a' your verse ; 
Guid luck, ye dinna condescend 

To naething worse ! 

Ye skelped the lads who wore the gown. 
An' set their heads to whirlin' roun' ; 
An' maybe mair — they tumbled down 

In vera shame. 
There is nae doubt, ye kept the toun 

A' in a flame ! 

An' then ye dinna stop at that ! 

But just upo' your mettle gat. 

An' hiss'd your baudron on their rat, 

To gar them squeal ; 
Oh, Eab, I ken ye would na' quat. 

Till they could feel ! 

Now, Rab, I hope you ' 11 think nae wrang, 
If I should mention twa, three sangs. 
Or maybe mair, as I gae lang 

In this my brief ; 
Old Scotia' s sons, where' er they gang, 

Think gi'es relief. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 173 

There ' s ane, ' ' Amang the Rigs, ' ' I mind, 

Ye sang about, an' sang sae kind, 

That ane wad think ye were clean blind, 

Wi' your affection ; 
But then ye sang o' "Auld Lang Syne,'" 

Frae recollection ! 

An' then that night, sae muckle lorn, 
Ye wandered out anent the barn ; 
Your Jean, she followed you to warn 

Against the frost ; 
Ye sang to Mary in the starn. 

An' maist was lost. 

Anither sang ye crooned sae weel — 
I maist forget the words mysel — 
About John Barleycorn to tell. 

They bruised his head ; 
An' how they treated him sae ill, 

An' laid him dead. 

Now, Kobin, lad, a boon I beg, 
Nor think me nae owre fast or gleg : 
Please gi'e me your auld jocteleg, 

You used to ha'e. 
To sharpen stumpie on your leg : 

I ' 11 keep it aye. 

For ithers, Rab, L — d bless your saul, 
Ha'e tampered wi' your auld punch bowl. 
An' writ thereon a rigmarole — 

An' wad ye think ! 
They put a siller rim, I ' m tauld. 

Around the brink ! 



174 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

An' then they 've ta'en some papers left 
By jou, an' act like folks bereft ; 
They lock them up like ony gift 

They sairly prize ; 
Sic praise they sing aboon the lift, 

Wad ope your eyes ! 

But, Rab, ye ken, as weel as I, 
They let you in your poortith die ; 
An' thought, nae doubt, to let you lie 

Amang the lave ; 
Yet raised a monument up high 

Aboon your grave ! 

Sae gaes it, Rab : as lang as time. 
They ' ve treated them o' muckle rhyme ; 
An' daubed them o'er wi' a' the slime 

O' critic's spite ; 
An' whan they ' re dead, then ilka crime. 

They mak' it light ! 

Then you an' I, an' a' sic ilk, 
Maun kill the kye to get the milk ; 
While ithers dress in claes o' silk, 

We'se gae in fustian ; 
I dinna ken ; but leave the whilk 

An open question. 

[Note. — Upon the publication of the above poem in the Wichita Eagle, Mr. G. M. 
Bauman, of Anthony, Kas., sent the author a very beautiful gold, pen to show his ap- 
preciation of our attempt in the dialect of the great Scotch Poet. 

Accompanying his gift was a very nice letter, written as though by Bums's dicta- 
tion to his friend, the donor. Out of that grew the following letters — studies in the 
dialect — which we give the reader, to show that we have a high appreciation of one 
who wrote some of the grandest sentiments that ever emanated from a human brain.] 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 175 



SECOND EPISTLE TO ROBERT BURNS. 
[in caee of g. m. b.] 



We'se ha'e received your bonny gift, 
An' till we ' re o' our sense bereft, 
Ilk day we will our face uplift 

An' sing its praise ; 
While we maun thro' this auld warl drift 

Its mony ways. 

We ha' e o' friends a goodly crowd, 
Wha sing us praise baith lang an' loud ; 
But gin we say it, little gowd 

To bring us cheer ; 
Yet let me whisper, we' se be proud 

O' rhymin' gear. 

We' se ha' e o' simple rhymes a routh. 
An' send them forth frae north to south ; 
Gif we can hear them in the mouth 

O' those we love, 
' T wad mak' our lowly pillow smooth. 

An' blessings prove. 

An' Kab, I' se thank thee for the pen 
Ye sent me thro' your German friend ; 
Sure, sic acquaintance canna' end 

A' in a day ; 
I ' m gaun to find him, aye, depend. 

If that I may ! 

I'se baud sic friendship nae sae cheap : 
Sic bonny gifts o' gowd will keep ; 



176 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

But sympathy ' s ae thing too deep 

To cast aside ; 
Frae heart to heart its flame will leap, 

An' there abide. 

We'se let the jocteleg gae now ; 
Ye maun ha'e lost it at the pleugh ; 
If sae, it ' s rusted out, I trow, 

An' is nae guid ; 
It ' s been sae lang, I dinna how 

' T were keepit hid. 

I'se bid you now a lang farewell, 

An' gin ye rest in heaven or , 

Ae name I am nae gaun to tell 

To sic a friend ; 
Lang syne in poets' hearts ye '11 dwell, 

Warl without end. 

P. S. — Now, Rab, I maist forgot it clean, 
We'se ha'e a poetry machine ; 
An ' ' stumpie ' ' now ' s no worth a preen, 

For crambo-clinkiu' ; 
They 've got sic things, frae what I glean, 
To do the drinkin'. 

With this, friend Rab, you ' 11 no agree : 
Guid faith ! you ' d gi'e a brown bawbee, 
To ha'e things like they used to be 

In ' ' auld lang syne ' ' ; 
But, Rab, ye ken, as weel as me, 

' T was nae guid thine ! 

[Note.— Robin writes that he is roaming the Elysian fields, removing all doubts 
as to the possible consequence of his associations while in the world. He regrets that 
he cannot return to the earth, to hold fellowship with his friends and admirers ; but 
says that he watches, with great solicitude, over those who follow in his poetical foot- 
steps.] 



PRAIBIE FLOWERS. 177 

THIRD EPISTLE TO ROBERT BURNS. 
[est caee of g. m. b.] 



Weel, Eab, ye lia'e me on the hip, 
An' I maun gi'e the poet's grip, 
Nor let sic grand occasions slip. 

To ane like ye ; 
So here gaes stumpie i' the lip 

O' crockerie. 

This warl ' s the same auld warl o' care 
As she was, Kab, whan you were here ; 
An' poets ha'e nae better fare 

Than in your day ; 
This I advise : stay whare ye are — 

Come no this way. 

Gif ye ha'e missed auld Hornie's den, 
Ye ' 11 gi'e him no the chance again ; 
But let him tackle us puir men 

In muckle glee ; 
He '11 hae an unco job, depen', 

Wi' sic as me. 



I dinna doubt the word ye tell, 
An' we'se be glad ye did sae well ; 
Ye ' re, maybe, like to ring the bell 

At heaven's gate ; 
Tho' some ha'e said ye went to h — 1, 

They ' re ower blate. 



178 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 

Lang syne it ' s been sin' je saw terra ; 
An' I maun sae I ' d ha'e nae hurry 
Frae sic Elj^sian fields to scurry, 

To gang below ; 
Gif ye could cross the Stygian ferry, 

An' Charon row ! 

Sic bonny scenes I would na' quat — 
I dare na' think o' sic as that ! 
We'se ha'e ae friend, an' we can chat 

Wi' mutual glee, 
About you, Eab, an' how you gat 

Frae Clootie free. 

We'se ha'e to flounder here below. 
Thro' dub an' mire, thro' rain an' snow ; 
Wi' shame, confess it, mickle slow 

We gather gear ; 
But, Rab, ye fand it hard enow, 

Whan you was here ! 

Auld Scotia's sons o'er ye are vain, 

They ' ve borne your sangs across the main ; 

The great, the wise, are in your train, 

An' sing your praise ; 
An' strangers, Rab, rise to explain 

Your hamely lays. 

They say ye were baith great an' wise. 
An' laud your verse aboon the skies ; 
Faith, Rab ! I ken ye ope your eyes 

To hear them chant ; 
Fame starves the poet till he dies, 

Then hear her rant ! 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 179 

"Ye 're, aiblins, nae temptation," now, 
Nae common Kobin-hold-the-pleugh ; 
Ye ' re classed amang the poets few 

Wha live for aye ; 
Why maun ye stoop to listen to 

Sic loons as we? 

We' se ha' e to stop this random letter ; 
We ken ye ha'e employment better 
Than ilka earthly poet' s matter, 

Wha lo' es your rhyme ; 
Ye 're far aboon sic carnal flatter. 

In yon bright clime. 

Yet, Kab, my friend, before I close, 

I ken ye ken, if ony knows : 

Say, ha'e ye met wi' Captain Gross, 

In a' your route? 
Ye mind ye turned the question loose, 

I darena' doubt ? 

An' ha'e ye met wi' Willie, there, 

The ane, I mean, wha made the prayer, 

Himsel', wha seemed the muckle care 

Upo' his mind ? 
An' ha' e ye time for kirks to spier 

Their shepherd-kind ? 

Ye mind some ministers ye lashed, 

An' how your rhyme ye at them dashed ; 

Perhaps they felt nae muckle fashed 

Wi' a' ye wrote ; 
Ha'e they their checks on heaven cashed, 

They used to quote? 



180 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

I'se lia'e some questions mair to send, 
But ilka thing maun ha' e its end ; 
Sae wouldna' wear thy German friend 

Like whin-stane rock : 
You ' 11 hear again f rae me, depend, 

Yours, Khjmin' Jock. , 

[ Note. — The queries are all satisfactorily answered, and we are indeed led to open 
our eyes at the state of affairs laid open to us. The best authority has shown that the 
two extremes, beyond this life, are situated near enough together that correspondence 
is not difficult nor impossible. Hence we need not be shocked at the novelty of the 
letter of which we produce a copy. 'T is only a matter of poetic license, after all.] 



FOURTH EPISTLE TO ROBERT BURNS. 

\m CAKE OF G. M. B.] 



Friend Rab : Ye ken, an' sae do I, 

It gi' es me pleasure to reply 

To ane wha scrawls aboon the sky. 

To ane below ; 
Tho' I maun fail, I fain wad try 

To mak' a show ! 

I wouldna' swear to ye an aith : 
To do ye wrang I wad be laith ; 
We'se ha'e o' human nature, baith. 

An unco sight ; 
An' I wad friendly meet ye — faith. 

Sic a delight ! 

Ye seem to ken a goodly deed. 
As ance ye kenned the haly creed ; 
An', Kab, ye maun now tak' the lead 

Nor gang awa' ; 
Forbye, ye 're nae yet past remead — 

Aboon the law. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 181 

Whan you was here in days agone ; 
Syne, ye wad tak' the gate alone, 
Frae Souter Johnny's house o' stone. 

Across the brig ; 
Te mind the ane ye met, o' bone, 

Wi' mawin' rig ? 

Ye ken the chaff you had wi' him ; 
The light ye had, the moonshine dim ; 
No muckle fat, but sairly slim 

Was Death that night ; 
Ye mind he threatened Hornbook, grim, 

Wi' keen delight? 

Not lang, did ye the loon escape : 

He swung his scythe ; your gab did gape. 

An' you soon lost your comely shape, 

An' poet' s fire ; 
Tho' nOw ye dare the angels ape 

Wi' haly lyre. 

Ye ken how ye auld Hornie jeered ; 
He acted no as though he cared ; 
But I ha'e lately frae him heard — 

His brief I send ; 
It maun, lang syne, ha'e been mislear'd, 

Frae time ' t was penned. 

I send this by our friend, the German ; 
We' se fear ye' 11 do ae bit o' squirmin' ; 
Ye' 11, aiblins, rather ha'e a sermon 

O' Daddy Auld ; 
But Nickie's brief will set ye girnan. 

Yours, Jock, the Bauld. 



182 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 



FRAE AULD NICK TO ROBERT BURNS. 
[copy of a letter.] 



To RoBEET BuKNS, o' poet fame : 

(I write frae h — 1, mj present hame, 

For ane maun e'en defend his name, 

Tho'he's the deil ; 
But just to hear you rant ' s a shame, 

I '11 no conceal.) 

What ails ye, Rab? Ha'e ye gane gyte. 

To fling at me sic waefu' spite ? 

Gif ye wad do the thing that ' s right. 

Ye ' d loot me be ; 
We'se had the chance ae mony night. 

To throttle thee. 



Ye wrang me, Rab ; I ' m no the chiel 
To do the things laid to the deil ; 
Tho' I 'm no saint, I 'm wae to feel 

Sae sair misca' d ; 
It ' s bad enow to ha' e to steal, 

An' gang outlawed. 

JSTae hand had I in Adam' s fa' , 
Than you yourself did, not ava' ; 
Tho' I was hid close by the wa', 

Whare stood the tree ; 
They wanted them sae bad, I saw 

Tears in their e'e. 



PBAIRIE FLOWERS. 183 

Nae word of truth ' s in a' that tale : 
I no did on your mither steal, 
Disguised in sic a doughty mail, 

As serpent skin ; 
An' sae upo' them baith prevail, 

An' mak' them sin. 

Your father Adam acted mean ; 
He helped to pick the apples clean. 
An' used your mither for a screen, 

Tq save himsel' ; 
I was 'a witness to the scene — 

I ken it weel. 

Sae mony say, whan ill they gang. 

They 're no to blame because they 're wrang; 

But loudly sings ilk ane the sang, 

' ' The deil ' s to blame ! ' ' 
I ken, I '11 ha'e the herd to hang, 
Whan they gang hame ! 

An' then about the man o' Uz, 
Wr reekit claes, an' bilious phiz ; 
I meddled no in a' that biz — 

Sic senseless haver! 
Maybe ye say it just to quiz 

Wi' clishmaclaver. 

I kent this Job : he was a chiel 
Wad speak a fair word to the deil ; 
It gars me greet, I '11 no conceal, 

To be accused 
O' ilayin' him frae head to heel — 

I ' m sair abused 1 



184 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 

He had to bear enow, beside 

The boils that festered in his hide ; • 

' T were better far gif he had died 

Whan he was joung, 
Than to ha'e ta'en him sic a bride, 

Wi' sic a tongue ! 

I tell ye, Eab, it 's no the thing, 
Sic fause accusing forth to bring, 
An' in my face forever fling. 

For ane great wrang. 
Ilk great misdeed that ' s gaun to ding 

While time gaes lang. 

An' , Rab, for je I ha' e respect ; 

You 've done some acts frae me direct — 

This, doubtless, whan je recollect, 

May gi' e ye pain ; 
I hope, frae this, you ' 11 no neglect, 

An' lees refrain. 

Ye wad do weel to tak' advice 
Frae ane ye ha' e no treated nice : 
Ye ' d better quat your rattlin' dice. 

An' drinkin' sprees ; 
Or you maun gang whare there ' s no ice, 

Nor ony breeze ! 

Then fare ye weel, my poet lad ! 
I ' m free to say, you ' re no sae bad. 
As mony carlins I ha'e had 

Here in this den ; 
An' ye gang free, I ' 11 no be sad, 
''Auld Nickie-Ben." 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 185 

A STREET AFFAIR. 



As I WAS goin' down the street, I saw some residenters — 

Some curbstone statesmen, all complete, come out as bold 
dissenters. 

They sat there in the sunshine warm, discussing money 
matters ; . 

Their faces covered with alarm — the world was all in tat- 
ters ! 

Inviting me to take a seat, I sat down for a minnit. 

To listen to their statesmanship, and find out what was 

in it. 
They all, well-meaning, honest folks, had found out all 

about it ; 
They knew just where the trouble was — and don't you 

never doubt it ! 

"I don't know what we're comin' to," said honest 

Jimmy Dooless ; 
"We can't wear decent clothes no more — my wife and 

children ' s shoeless. ^ 
The times are hard and money scarce, there ain't much 

work a-goin' ; 
I 'm tired out a-huntin' it — my wife would take in sewin'." 

(Now Jimmy first proved up a claim, but could n't live by 

f armin' ; 
He moved in town three years ago — thought city lifie was 

charmin' . 
He put a mortgage on his land, and for a while seemed 

thrivin' — 
His wife ' s been washin' now a year, an' ' makes most all 

the livin'.) 

—13 



186 PRAiniE FLOWERS. 

Said Simon Sparing: "I 've an aunt who lives in Denver 

city ; 
She sends a check once in a while, to me, just out of pity. 
I think I '11 woik along till spring — won't get in debt no 

deeper ; 
An' when warm weather comes ag'in, I '11 go where liv- 

in' 's cheaper." 

(Now Simon's cheek is wonderful. In fair or foulest 

weather 
He's not been known to work a lick, for months and 

months together. 
He ' s worn the same old greasy coat, the same old hat 

and breeches, 
For two long years; but he won't work — and then falls 

out with riches ! ) 

Another speaker now arose and shook his index finger. 

As much as sayin' : " Do n't you fret, no cob-webs 'round 
me linger ; 

I've studied all this subject out, an' know it — A to Iz- 
zard — 

Just like a book ; if I can' t tell, why burn me for a wiz- 
ard. 

''There 's somethin' wrong in Washington about the leg- 

islatin,'(?) 
For every law they make, there ' s cause somewhere for its 

creatin' . 
The poor hain't got no cash to spend, no jobs to be 

a-lettin' ; 
For those who hav§ no hens to set, hain't got no hens 

a-settin' . 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 187 

''Takes careful pains to hatch a job, as 't does to hatch a 

chicken ; 
Tho' some hain't got no cash to spend, they do a heap o' 

kickin'. 
We raise a iHighty sight of wind, to blow the dust back 

on us ; 
We build the house — then, hang the luck ! it tumbles 
i down upon us. 



' ' We sit here on a dry-goods box, send men to legislature, 
Who know too much or not enough, then cuss 'em — hu- 
man nature. 
Because, you see, constituency, you may depend upon it, 
Ne ' er told them what they wanted done, until they ' d 
gone and done it. 



' ' We loaf around from year to year, a-wishin' times were 

better ; 
Then put another mortgage on, and can' t tell what ' s the 

matter ! 
Instead o' gettin' down to work, we go to speechifyin' ; 
Way goes our business to the dogs, ( a fact there ' s no de- 

nyin' . ) 



^ ' Instead of bein' satisfied, an' puUin' all together. 
We're allers lookin' for a squall, or other change o' 

weather. 
If it should rain, we want it dry ; or dry, why, vicy versy ; 
We're such a sorry, luckless set, the L — d on us have 

mercy ! 



188 PRAIRIE FI0WER8. 

"There's somethin' wrong at Washington? Ah, yes, 

that ' s what ' s the matter ! 
And do you think if you were there, you ' d make things 

any better? 
You say there 's jobs — aye, there 's the rub; are you 

above suspicion ? 
I mean, were things turned right about — put you in their 

position ? 

''Is all your love for honest gains ? and do n't you never 

' toady ' 
For things that do n't belong to you ? Now answer that, 

somebody. 
I guess you hain't got much to say, an' you ain't much to 

blame for 't. 
Out of a job, a-huntin' work.? — I've got another name 

for't! 

"I make a motion we disband, our honest wives bewil- 
d' rin' , 

By helpin' 'tend to home affairs, the washin' and the chil- 
dren. 

Such efforts they '11 appreciate — 't was you for that they 
married. 

Have I a second? Let us vote — disband, the motion 's 
carried. " 



POEMS OF FAITH AND HOPE. 



THE HINDU MYSTIC. 



^[Read by Mrs. J. W. Beebe at the meeting of the Woman's Foreign Missionary 
Society, in First M. E. Church, Wichita, Kas., May 20, 1891.] 

Who will be our guide ? who will lead 

Us through this lab' rinth of life 'i -* 

By whose power can we be freed 

From one continual strife ? 
Why must we here in darkness bide — 

Mid idols grope — while decay 
Upon our temples' iev'ry side 

Is writ — hearts filled with dismay? 

Why comes this longing in the soul, 

Stone gods cannot satisfy? 
Why is it we cannot control 

Desire? And w^hen we come to die, 
What is it points beyond, to whence 

The fast fleeting soul must flee ? 
Is there no guide? must we go hence. 

Hopeless, in eternity? 

These forms are vain — they weary me; 

Empty chaff before the wind 
Are they ; they hide what I would see — 

Make my blinded eyes more blind. 

(189) 



190 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Oh, who will take mj hand — whose arm 

Ma J I lean on, in the way 
All flesh must go ? Must this alarm 

Continue, while here I stay? 

Who break these chains these fettered hands 

Have borne e'er since I 've been? 
Who '11 ope the doors, burst prison bands 

Of those in darkness and sin? 
Blind leaders of the blind have we ; 

They but further lead us out 
Upon the wild and troubled sea. 

Mid the mad'ning waves of doubt. 

Oh, who will be our captain? who 

Is able to lead us on 
Our way, the rushing waters through — 

Bid all this unrest begone ? 
Is there no balm in all the isles 

Spread over this sea-girt sphere. 
To ease the aching heart? no smiles 

To gladden while we are here ? 

They tell us of a teacher — one 

Who came and dwelt among men 
In years agone, they called God' s Son, 

Who did many wonders then. 
They slew Him for His goodness — slew 

The Friend of man — a Brother 
To all humanity — true, ^ 

More true than any other. 

So sayeth the strange book they bring- 
To us — to teach of their God. 

What wondrous songs of love they sing 
Of His high and blest abode. 



PRAIRIE FLOWER 8. 191 

Our priestly prayers bring naught of peace 

To our poor starving souls — no ; 
We seek for what will give us ease — 

Would not hence in darkness go. 

We are weary of conscience seared, 

Priestly rites we all condemn ; 
Weary of customs blindly reared, 

That drive on to further shame. 
O worship, thou wast made for good ! 

Evil men have wrought the ill ; 
Are we not yet one brotherhood? 

Can we not that mission fill? 

We feel there is a dawning day — 

A day when idols no more 
Shall be called God ; when all the way 

Shall shine across death's dark shore. 
Depart, thou mystic teacher — come 

Thou calm, new force in the soul ! 
This groveling earth I call not home ; 

Jesus, Guide, assume control ! 



TO MY KING. 



Oh, Sun of righteousness, come in, 

Illuminate my soul ; 
Drive out the last remains of sin, 

And purify the whole. 
Give health and strength to every part, 

That I may live for Thee ; 
Come Thou and dwell within my heart. 

And then I shall be free. 



192 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Thou lowly Christ, thou Nazarene, 

When Thou wert here below 
Thou healed the leper, made him clean, 

And pure as driven snow. 
Thou opened up the blinded eyes, 

That they might look on Thee ; 
Oh, may thy mercy from the skies 

Help me Thy face to see. 

Unto the dumb a voice Thou gave, 

That they might praise Thy name ; 
The deaf to know that Thou couldst save. 

And caused to walk the lame. 
They spread for Thee the sick around, 

Thereon to lay Thine hand ; 
Oh, blessed Christ, may Thou be found 

Most precious in the land. 

Oh, Son of God, oh. Holy One ! 

Thou burden-bearer dear, 
Oh, bid my weight of sin be gone. 

And ever keep Thou near. 
Thou caused the angry sea to quail, 

Thy voice said ' ' Peace, be still ' ' ; 
Thy love to us can never fail — 

Come, now, me with it fill. 

Come unto me ! Thou bidst me come ; 

I come to Thee for rest ; 
I 've started. Lord, I 'm going home. 

To lean upon Thy breast. 
I take Thy yoke, my burden bring. 

And cast it at Thy feet, 
My Lord, my Christ, my only King, 

And rest in Thee complete. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 193 

COME UNTO ME. 

[Matt, nth, 28tli to 30th.] 



Oh, have you seen the Saviour, 
He ' s passing by this way ; • 

Oh, have you heard him calling, 
Come, come to Me, to-day ! 

CJioi'us : Come, come, all ye that labor. 
With heavy burdens pressed ; 
Come unto Me, thy Saviour, 
And I will give you rest. 

Oh, hear his voice so holy. 

Cry ' ' Take My yoke on thee ; 

For I am meek and lowly. 
Ye shall find rest in Me. 

" Come, burdened soul, come try Me ; 
My yoke is light to bear ; 
My burden, oh, so easy. 

Thy soul My peace shall share. ' ' 



TAKE UP THY BED AND WALK. 



The news flew o' er Judea' s hills, 
' ' The great physician comes, 

Whose word can heal the greatest ills, 
-And bless the humblest homes." 

The multitudes throng o'er the way. 
The halt and maimed, are brought ; 

The suffering sick the Master pray, 
The blind their Healer sought. 



194 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 

With gentle voice and noiseless tread 

The Master moves along ; 
' ' Take up thy bed and walk, ' ' he said, 

To one amid the throng ; 
The palsied limbs regain their strength 

At His most potent word, 
And living blood flows thro' their length, 

The dead flesh owns its Lord. 

The multitude, amazed, look on, 

To see such power displayed ; 
The Scribes and Pharisees alone 

Appear to be dismayed. 
''It is against the law to bear 

Thy bed on Sabbath days," 
They said to him ; ' ' hast thou no care 

For such unlawful ways ? " 

To which the healed one made reply : 

' ' Who made me whole did say, 
' Take up thy bed and walk, ' and I 

But hastened to obey. 
I wist not who he was, but know 

He healed me wondrously ; 
And my poor heart doth overflow — 

His face I long to see." 

Within the Temple's sacred wall 

The Master findeth him ; 
How sweet the lowly accents fall. 

Close by a fountain' s brim ; 
He said : ' ' Thou art made whole, behold. 

Go thou, and sin no more. 
Lest greater evils, many fold,. 

Upon thy head should pour." 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 195 

The healed one blazed abroad His fame, 

To all the people round ; 
No doubt to him the Master's name 

Had a most pleasant sound. 
So should we praise, both old and young, 

A Healer, such as He ; 
And may His praise be on our tongues 

Through all eternity. 



ENTREATY. 



Jesus, I come, I come to Thee, 

And to thine altar cling ; 
Make Thou me all that I should be — 

Thine arms around me fling. 
Take my rebellious heart away, 

Purge me from every sin ; 
Mould me, as potters do their clay — 

Come Thou, and enter in. 

Oh, let my heart be Thine abode. 

Thy sure abiding-place ; 
So shall I walk the heavenly road. 

And e'er behold Thy face. 
Thy blessed love shall be my food — 

My heart shall feed on Thee ; 
I shall be ransomed by Thy blood 

Through all eternity. 

So shall I dwell in peace below, 

A ransomed sinner, given 
The wondrous worth of grace to know. 

And feel the joys of heaven. 



196 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Ob, let Thj spirit ever dwell 
In this poor heart of mine ; 

Let me Thy joys to others tell, 
And of thy love divine. 

When earth, its joys and cares, are o'er, 

My body laid to rest ; 
My soul shall dwell forevermore 

In Paradise the blest. 
There I shall hear the Saviour say, 

"Well done, thou faithful one, 
Enter thou in, without delay, - 

The presence of the Son." 



A PRAYER. 



O Lord, I seek a better way 

To serve Thee, oh ! so plain, 
That I may follow Thee each day 

I on this earth remain. 
Such health, O Lord, impart to me. 

That every pulse may beat * 
A warm desire for serving Thee — 

A God, to me complete. 

O Lord remove each wayward thought — ■ 

Each wrong intent remove ; 
When in complete subjection brought, ' / 

Oh, lose me in Thy love. 
There is a way of holiness ; 

No lion shall be there, 
For those who seek — Thou 'It surely bless — 

Who seek aright in prayer. 



PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 197 

Then lead me by Thy spirit, Lord, 

Each day I Hve below ; 
And help me, as I search Thy word, 

Thy will to better know. 
So may I grow in grace each day, 

That by Thy will divine, 
I may be wholly 'neath Thy sway, 

Both soul and body Thine. 



A RETROSPECT. 



Lo, EIGHT and thirty years have passed ; 
Childhood is gone, and manhood fast 
Is passing on, and soon will be 
The time of middle life to me ! 

Where have I been? What have I done? 
Where are the triumphs I have won? 
Where was I in this world's great strife? 
Have I fulfilled my part in life? 

These hands of mine I 've called my own, 
Canst tell if wheat or tares they ' ve sown ? 
I 've felt these eyes belonged to me ; 
But did they right or wrongly see ? 

I have a brain with which I 've thought, 
And doing this, what have I wrought? 
Sought I the phantoms of the air? 
Or seeking laughter, found despair? 
Beaching for what appeared to be. 
Lost I the great reality ? 



198 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 

Filled I mj soul with great design, 
While practice, lazy, lagged behind? 
Did folly's fancy greet my eye, 
Like to the mirage in the sky. 
That shows us city, stream and hills, 
And visions, such as fancy fills? 

Say, have I met with friends or foes? 
And have I dealt with joys or woes? 
Has friendship grasped me by the hand, 
Or did I try alone to stand. 
With feelings like a shattered barque 
In waters strange, when all is dark? 

Say, have I loved or love received? 
And have I others joyed or grieved? 
How many weary hearts caressed? 
How many souls have I impressed 
That sympathy dwells in my breast. 
And child-like love and charity, 
Not stone-like, cold disparity ? 

Do thoughts like these me occupy? 
And are my aims thus always high? 
Do I ne' er grovel in the dust. 
And e'en forget in God to trust? 

I look my past full in the face. 
And feel my lack and need of grace 
To fight the battles of this life. 
That I may conquer in the strife. 



PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 199 

I feel the days are slipping on — 
The day will come when I am gone — 
The place and friends that know me well, 
In time must find a stone to tell 
My name and age ; but what I did 
Will deep within their hearts be hid : 
And virtuous acts, if they should be, 
Will live and grow eternally. 

Though I be low, may e'er be high 
The thoughts that in my bosom lie ; 
Which noble deeds may emulate ; 
From whence good acts may emanate ; 
Where wicked thoughts may have no home — 
Indeed, may have no room to come. 

And may I live till Wisdom will 
That I ' ve had time my place to fill. 
Then call me to a place unknown — 
May I e'en then that Wisdom own. 
At my departure feel not grieved. 
But hope for good because I 've lived. 




^1 



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